


How I Survived My Summer Vacation (Volume Two)

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: the braveryverse [8]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, more tags to be added as this fic progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: On their road trip, Buffy wants to take her relationship with Faith to the next level, but Faith might not be as ready for that as she thinks she is. In Paris, Xander's insecurities are threatening his relationship with Cordelia, who doesn't understand why her boyfriend's pulling away. In England, Giles is trying to keep his new wife out of some messy Council drama, Jenny is somehow in the middle of the drama anyway, and Willow might just be falling in summer love.(summer vacation in the braveryverse!)





	1. three months of hotel rooms (buffy)

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a reference to a tie-in btvs novel that has some excellent calendiles content and that i love with all my heart. volume one was published, but there was never a volume two. i think mine's an excellent take on what it should have been.

The night before she and Faith were scheduled to leave, Buffy snuck over to the Calendar-Giles house and found Giles kissing Jenny on the front porch. A year or so ago, this would have led to awkwardness for almost all parties involved—Giles falling over himself to look respectable, Buffy nauseated, Jenny looking a mixture of pleased and embarrassed—but they were _married_ now, and Giles kissing his wife wasn’t quite as weird as Giles kissing his girlfriend, so Buffy mostly just smiled a little and looked down to give them some privacy. Giles pulled away, gave Jenny a last quick kiss on the cheek, and murmured something to her about _the children,_ to which Jenny responded by patting him on the shoulder and heading inside.

Buffy loved her own mom, obviously, but sometimes she _was_ a little jealous that Willow and Xander and Faith all got to be Giles and Jenny’s _children_. These feelings never had enough time to take root, though, because Giles would always turn to look at her with that fond, proud look that she _knew_ was only for her—much as he was doing right now—and she’d remember that she was _always_ his kid too. “Last I recall,” he said, “you and Faith were leaving in the morning. Weren’t we all planning to see you off then?”

Buffy shrugged, smiling a little awkwardly. “I wanted to stop by and say hi,” she said. “In a _non-_ goodbye context.”

Giles opened the front door and stepped inside. Buffy followed.

The living room was a little bit in disarray. Xander and Cordelia were packing Xander’s suitcase for Paris, and seemed to be in a playful argument regarding which terrible shirts he would and wouldn’t be taking with him. Willow and Jenny were packing up some of Giles’s books in an already-overstuffed suitcase, and having a cheerful conversation about magical theory as they did so. Faith, sprawled on the couch, was making no attempt to pack at _all,_ and grinned hugely when she saw Buffy. “Hey, b,” she said. “Ready for tomorrow?”

“Just about,” said Buffy, fluttering her fingers in a shy wave as she followed Giles into the kitchen.

There was a photo on the fridge that caught Buffy’s eye and made her smile—a new one, from Giles and Jenny’s wedding, and the complete perfection of the shot made it clear that Cordelia had taken it. Jenny and Faith were laughing, Jenny’s arms thrown around Faith’s shoulders from behind, Faith’s head turned towards Jenny. They were both rumpled, dirt smudging Jenny’s cheek and Faith’s white shirt, but they both looked so _happy—_

Giles saw where Buffy was looking, and smiled. “They really do love each other quite a lot,” he said.

“No, it’s—” Buffy waved a hand, smiling a little herself. “I know _that._ I just sometimes—you know Jenny never used to smile that big till she became a Scooby?”

Giles’s smile softened, and he glanced quietly over through the open doorway. Buffy did too. Jenny was taking books off the shelves, laughing at something Xander had just said, and—she _did_ look happy. _Really_ happy. Buffy liked that.

“Would you like hot chocolate?” said Giles abruptly, going all pink in the way he did whenever he’d snapped back from gazing moonily at his wife.

“Honestly, that’s pretty much the only reason I came here,” said Buffy, swinging herself up to sit on the kitchen counter. Giles pointedly tapped her knee; she pretended not to notice. “And with marshmallows, obviously—”

“Buffy, do not sit on the counter,” said Giles, “I have _enough_ trouble getting Faith not to do it, and if she sees you—”

“Then she’ll know I’m your favorite?” said Buffy, giving Giles a winning grin.

Giles rolled his eyes a little and took out the hot chocolate mix, beginning to work on a mug. “You are a _world_ of trouble,” he said, but Buffy could see the small smile tugging at his lips. “I fear Faith won’t get _any_ of her summer homework done with you and your bad influence.”

It was strange, but stuff like that didn’t sting even a little bit when Giles said it. From other adults, it had always felt like a knife to the gut, but Giles said it…laughingly, like the thought of Buffy being a bad influence was the biggest joke in the world.

“You know, I’m gonna miss you over the summer?” she said.

Giles looked up, a touched grin blossoming. “I can always write,” he said.

“I’d actually really like that,” said Buffy. “Can you tell me about England while you’re there? I only went once, and it was when I was eight, and all I remember was that I kinda puked on some guy’s shoes because I ate an entire jar of marmalade at the hotel when my mom wasn’t looking.”

Giles pressed his lips together, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Well,” he said. “Good to know you were always terrifyingly determined.”

“Oh, totally,” said Buffy. “The strength is mystical, but the go-getter attitude is pure, undistilled Buffy.”

Handing her the mug, Giles curled her fingers around it, resting his hands over hers in a way that kind of felt as big and meaningful as a hug. “I’m very proud of you,” he said. “You’ve come _incredibly_ far in the last three years.”

“You too,” said Buffy, the words bubbling out of her exactly as she thought them. At Giles’s surprised look, she clumsily elaborated, “I—I wouldn’t have been able to grow if you hadn’t grown a little too, you know? I mean, the Giles I met would _so_ not be okay with me and my girlfriend driving off on a summer-long road trip.”

“The Giles you met was also a _Watcher,_ ” said Giles, and made a little face. Buffy laughed.

“Giles?” said Willow, poking her head in. “Jenny wants to know—oh, hi, Buffy,” she added, giving Buffy a grin and a little wave. “Giles, Jenny wants to know if you’ve seen  _The Illustrated Compendium of—_ ”

“ _Infamous Cursed Artifacts?”_ Giles finished. “Tell her it’s in our bedroom, she was using it to cross-check that article last week.”

Willow gave Giles a thumbs-up and ducked back out of the kitchen.

“Why do you need seventeen thousand books, anyway?” Buffy asked, taking a sip of her hot chocolate.

“Summer reading for Willow,” said Giles. “I’ve instructed my aunts _not_ to teach her advanced magic under _any_ circumstances, as they’re far too flighty and irresponsible to give her a proper and thorough lesson.”

“You think that’ll work?” said Buffy doubtfully.

“Oh, no,” said Giles, and grinned. “They’ll do their damnedest to prove me wrong. Willow could stand to learn a lot from them, but they won’t take it seriously unless they feel like their abilities are being doubted.”

“Sneaky!” said Buffy, giggling.

“Jenny says it’s _not_ in the bedroom—” Willow informed Giles.

“Has she _looked?_ ” said Giles. Directing a wry, apologetic look in Buffy’s direction, he added, “You’ll excuse me, but my wife—” (he blushed, grinning) “—requires my assistance.”

“No big,” said Buffy. “I was really only here for the hot chocolate.”

Giles rolled his eyes a little, leaned down, and gave Buffy a quick, gentle hug, careful not to jostle the hot chocolate. “ _Do_ try to get to bed at a reasonable hour,” he said. “Your mum knows you’re here?”

“Uh,” said Buffy.

“I’ll phone her,” said Giles, letting go of Buffy to smooth down her hair. Following Willow out of the kitchen, he called in his wife’s direction, “Dear, if you had _looked—”_

And then it was just Buffy, alone in Giles’s kitchen with her hot chocolate. She was going to miss this kitchen, she thought; she’d been at Giles and Jenny’s house a lot lately, mostly to sneak in and see Faith and knock things over and inevitably get caught by Giles or Jenny anyway. But there was something really silly and wonderful about the subterfuge, even if it wasn’t necessary: it felt so deliciously _normal,_ sneaking out of the house late at night for girlfriendly smooches. Patrol had nothing on Faith.

The girl in question stuck her head round the door, then grinned. “Watcher’s pet,” she said. “Giles gives me _so_ much shit when I try and do that.”

Buffy scooted over on the counter; Faith hopped up next to her. “How’s that summer homework going?” she asked.

Faith gagged.

“Fair enough.” Buffy scooted closer to Faith, resting her cheek on her shoulder. She felt Faith’s arm slip around her side, and that now-familiar rush of warmth, and _god,_ she was _so_ looking forward to a _whole summer_ with just this girl. _Her_ girl. “You all packed for tomorrow?”

 _“Uh,_ ” said Faith. Buffy couldn’t help but start giggling. “Stop— _stop,_ ” objected Faith, a laugh in her voice, “it’s under control!”

“Yeah, I can tell!” Buffy giggled. “That’s why you’re not packing right now, right? Because it’s all under control?”

“Y’know what?” said Faith. “I don’t want to talk about this,” and caught a laughing Buffy’s face in her hands, kissing her softly. “New lip gloss?” she murmured.

“Grape flavor.”

“Mm,” said Faith, a pleased little noise that might have been about the lip gloss but was _probably_ about the kiss. “Hey, we’re gonna have _three months_ of hotel rooms, b. You ready for that?”

“What?” said Buffy very loudly, jerking back and hitting her head on one of the cabinets behind her. Faith’s eyes widened, full of concern, and Buffy tried to tell her racing heart to _calm the hell down already._ “What—um, I—I mean, you—”

“Everything okay in here?” said Jenny, peering into the kitchen. Her worried expression gave way to one of mild annoyance. “Okay, see, _this_ is why Rupert and I don’t want people sitting on the counters. Those cabinets are recipes for a head injury, and I feel like my husband already has the monopoly on that.”

“Ha ha,” said Giles from the living room.

“Sorry, Jen,” said Faith, hopping down from the counter with genuine remorse. Turning, she extended a tentative hand to Buffy, looking almost as though she expected Buffy not to take it. “And sorry, Buffy. If that was—I mean, we can take it slow—”

Jenny cleared her throat.

“Shit,” said Faith, coloring. “Uh. We were really just talking about, um, kissing, and, um, kissing.”

“You two are old enough to make those decisions,” said Jenny patiently. “I _just_ kinda figured you might not want me in the room for them.” With a last “Don’t sit on the counters!” she hurried back into the living room.

Faith and Buffy were left in an awkward, nervous silence. Visibly steeling herself, Faith blurted out, “I-I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, Buffy. I just—”

“Oh my gosh, no, it’s totally fine,” Buffy babbled, well aware that she was talking much louder than she probably should be. “I mean, I had sex with Angel, it’s not like this is something I’ve _never ever done before,_ just—you know, it took me by surprise! But I would totally love to have sex with you at some point. Absolutely. One hundred percent.”

Faith had gone very pink. Buffy was just about to try and backpedal even further when she realized—

“Um, _maybe_ shut the door when you’re having really loud conversations with your girlfriend?” squeaked a furiously blushing Willow from the doorway, and stepped up, firmly closing the kitchen door.

Buffy didn’t dare look at Faith. With a soft groan, she dropped her face into her hands. “Foot, meet mouth,” she mumbled.

“The _last_ thing I wanna do is spin you round, baby,” said Faith gently, tugging Buffy’s hands away from her face. “And I didn’t mean for it to sound like—I just like getting to be with you, y’know? I like waking up with you next to me.”

“I have bed head,” said Buffy weakly.

“Eh,” said Faith. “Can’t be worse than mine.”

“Yeah, but you make it look _seductive—_ ”

Faith grinned a little, and leaned in, pressing her mouth gently to Buffy’s.

* * *

Except the thing was, all of a sudden, Buffy couldn’t stop thinking about it. They were in her girlfriend’s bedroom, Faith lying on her stomach with an arm thrown across Buffy’s hip, and suddenly Buffy was feeling _ridiculous_ for _not thinking about it._ She’d honestly been so blown away by Faith—crushing on Faith, kissing Faith, being _in love with Faith—_ that sex didn’t really even enter the equation in the same way it had with Angel. And how did two girls have sex, anyway? How was that supposed to work? Faith was the first girl Buffy had ever let herself admit she was attracted to—she’d _never_ had to consider what having sex with a girl might be like.

Obviously Faith wasn’t going to press the issue, especially not now that Buffy had been so visibly freaked out about it, but—

But the thing was, Buffy _couldn’t stop thinking about it._

She’d had sex with Angel. Obviously. Everything with Angel had always felt amplified and huge; he’d been her first love, after all. Sex with Angel had been like that—lots of big, scary, emotional moments, but most pervasive had been the sense of _safety._ They’d come together after a terrible, terrifying night, and in his arms, she’d felt _protected._ It had been the first and only time she’d felt like everything might really be okay.

Sex with Angel hadn’t really been much about the _sex._ More about the _Angel._ And it was a little weird thinking about it, now, without all the swoony emotional baggage that made Buffy want to drop everything and run into his arms. There was still that little corner of her heart that would probably always love him, but…

Faith snorted in her sleep, rolling onto her side and wrapping her arms further around Buffy, and Buffy felt herself smile. There were so many dumb, wonderful things that she loved about her dumb, wonderful girlfriend—lots of littler things that she’d found out in the few months they’d been officially dating. Faith snored, and she sometimes laughed so hard she wheezed, and she liked Red Vines and contact sports, and she’d punch anyone out to protect _any_ Scooby, even _Cordelia_ for some reason.

Being with Faith felt just as big as Angel, but in a different way. If Buffy was swept up in loving Angel, she was grounded by loving Faith.

Swoony romantic talk aside, though, there was the actual problem at hand: all of a sudden, Buffy was thinking about what it might be like to have sex with Faith, and it was like some door had opened in her brain that she couldn’t shut. Because Faith already made those soft, wanting little noises when they kissed—what would it be like to hear _more_ of those noises, more drawn-out, more longing—what would it be like if she whispered _Buffy Buffy I need you I want you I love you—_ what would it be like if her hands were against Buffy’s bare skin and—

Buffy whimpered, rolling over and hiding her face in the pillow. This wasn’t a problem she’d _ever_ expected to have. She’d wanted sex with Angel in terms of _Angel;_ she wasn’t _used_ to wanting someone so badly that she _burned_ with it, and she had _no_ idea how to handle it. Especially not with Faith so close, making snuffly, sleepy noises, not when Faith thought Buffy was innocent and nervous, not when Faith was holding back for Buffy’s sake—

“Buffy,” Faith whispered, voice low and throaty in that just-woke-up kind of way. “Buffy, you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Buffy, a little high-pitched. “Just—you know—excited! For tomorrow!”

Faith tugged at Buffy’s hip, rolling Buffy over to face her, and gave her a soft, slow, toe-curling kiss. She pulled away only to nestle her head in the crook of Buffy’s neck, letting out a sleepy little sigh that felt like an electric shock against Buffy’s skin. “Get some sleep, b,” she mumbled.

Buffy _tried._

* * *

They set off pretty early the next morning, and since they were the first of the Scoobies to leave, _everyone_ was there to see them off. Giles pressed a wrapped summer-vacation gift into Buffy’s hands (it was pretty obviously a book), Jenny, Oz, and Xander helped Faith with the luggage, Cordelia sort of stood around making snarky comments about what everyone was doing/wearing (which, Buffy was quickly learning, was her way of being friendly), and Willow tugged Buffy off to the side to give her a giggly hug.

“You and Faith!” she said excitedly. “Road trip! That’s _completely_ the stuff that all the best rom-coms are made of.”

“About that,” said Buffy, and tugged Willow _farther_ off to the side, pretending that they were examining the little patch of flowers Giles had planted a few weeks ago. She hesitated, then said, “Will, I think I might—um, I think I kind of want to—”

Willow turned a little pink, but still grinned. “I mean, I _did_ hear you talking to her last night,” she said. “You were kinda loud. And flustered.”

“I _know,_ ” Buffy groaned. “It was terrible. I got all panicky, and now she thinks I want to take things slow, but now that she’s brought it up, I just—” She looked over Willow’s shoulder; Faith, wearing an _obscenely_ tiny pair of jean shorts, was loading a particularly overstuffed suitcase into the truck with effortless dexterity. _Oh boy._ “Will, I _like_ Faith,” she said helplessly. “And not just in the—you know, obviously she’s adorable and wonderful and the best girlfriend ever, but all of a sudden there’s a part of my brain that _really_ wants to—um—”

“Jump her bones?” Willow finished, blush deepening.

“Yeah,” said Buffy ruefully.

Willow considered this. “I mean, I get it, a little bit,” she said shyly. “We came out at around the same time, you know? I think part of it might be because Faith is the first girl you’ve ever admitted you want to even _kiss,_ and that’s _such_ a long time to keep all that girl-related crushy stuff under wraps.”

 _“Yeah,”_ said Buffy again, emphatically. “It’s like it’s been all bottled up and now all of a sudden it’s _there!_ And I never had to deal with that when it came to Angel, but now I’m feeling, like, a _year’s_ worth of Faith-related feelings that I didn’t even know I _had!_ ” She huffed, frustrated. “And _now_ we’re going on a road trip, and I’m going to have to spend the entire time _not_ jumping her, because I’m pretty sure _she_ thinks I want to take things slow, and she’s being so _nice_ about it that I can’t just tell her I’m a total flip-flopper—”

“Um, Buffy,” said Willow, “Faith’s pretty much wanted to jump your bones since day one. If you tell her you’ve changed your mind, I don’t think she’s going to be all that upset about it.”

 _“Yeah,_ but—” Buffy sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just really don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” said Willow, squeezing her hands. “You’re the _least_ messy-uppy person I know.”

“What about Angel?”

“Totally extenuating circumstances,” said Willow emphatically. “You’re going to kill it, okay? You’re going to have a _great_ summer and you’re going to have _great_ sex with your _great_ girlfriend and you’re going to tell me _all about it_ so I know how to do it when _I_ have a girlfriend.”

That made Buffy giggle. “You have fun in England, okay?” she said. “Make sure you get at least five embarrassing baby pictures from Giles’s aunts. I need blackmail material.”

“I heard that,” said Giles mildly, but he sounded more amused than annoyed. “Buffy, the car’s ready, if you—?”

Buffy hugged Willow, then Giles, then skipped over to the car to throw her arms around Jenny and Xander. Waving to Cordelia and Oz, she said, “I hope you guys all have an _amazing_ summer,” and clambered into the front seat.

Faith tugged at Buffy’s arm, then, when Buffy turned to look at her, gave her a quick, smacking kiss—the kind of playful hello kiss that Buffy had always wanted. “You ready?” she said.

“The readiest,” said Buffy, and tried her best to believe it.


	2. the right guy (xander)

Sunnydale’s airport only did domestic flights, so Jenny drove Xander and Cordelia down to the airport the day that their flight was set to depart. Giles and Willow still had packing to catch up on, but they’d both kind of smothered Xander in heartfelt goodbyes before he left, so he didn’t at all feel abandoned by the notion of only Jenny seeing them off. Honestly, it was kind of the opposite.

“You packed everything you need, right?” Jenny said for the seventeenth time, hands resting on Xander’s shoulders like she only half-remembered that they were there. “Sunscreen? Extra socks? Spending money?”

“Jenny, I’m _good,_ ” said Xander, ridiculously touched. “I’m an adult now, remember? I can handle this kind of stuff.”

 _“Hmm,_ ” said Jenny, who didn’t look entirely convinced. “Call me if _anything_ comes up.”

Surprising both of them, Xander stepped forward and pulled Jenny into a hug. He was taller than her by a good few inches, now, and feeling the physicality of how _tiny_ she was felt weird beyond all reason. Jenny was one of the strongest people he knew. “I love you,” he said; he couldn’t remember if he’d told her that before. He felt like she’d probably known already. “I’m gonna miss you a whole bunch.”

Jenny was smiling at him, assessing and affectionate in a way that reminded Xander a little bit of what he thought moms were supposed to be. “I love you too,” she said. “Spoil Cordelia rotten. She deserves it.”

“Damn _right_ I do,” said Cordelia with satisfaction, tugging Xander’s elbow. “Now let’s _go!”_

Xander hesitated, then hugged Jenny again, because nothing really seemed _enough_ after all that time she’d been there for him. And she hadn’t been _great_ at it, not all the time, but she’d _always_ tried her best—which was more than he could say for his shitty ex-parents.

“ _Xan-der,”_ Cordelia whined, “we are _going_ to miss our _flight!”_

“Seems serious,” said Jenny, and stepped back, standing on tiptoe to gently ruffle Xander’s hair. “I’ll make sure to send you guys pictures from England—”

“Only if none of them are you and _Mr. Calendar-Giles_ making out,” said Xander. “I get enough of that on a daily basis.” Waving goodbye to a laughing Jenny, he let Cordelia tow him away, leaning into her as they headed towards check-in. “Hey, Cordy,” he said suddenly, “you, uh, you know this isn’t—first class, right? I couldn’t—”

Cordelia stopped in her tracks, directing a _deeply_ annoyed look up at him. “Xander, do you seriously think I’m _that_ high-maintenance?” she said.

“A little?” said Xander honestly. At Cordelia’s glare, he elaborated, “It’s what I _like_ about you.”

Cordelia’s face softened; she blushed. “Then is it okay that I don’t mind economy so long as I’m with you?” she said.

“Um, yeah,” said Xander, who was probably blushing too. “Yep. One hundred percent.”

* * *

 

Their flight left LAX in the afternoon, but Cordelia fell asleep almost immediately after the plane took off, seatbelt unbuckled so that she could nestle comfortably against Xander’s side. No one had ever sat with Xander like that—cuddled into him, trusting that he’d take care of things—and it made a strange anxiety rise in his chest as he looked down at her. Asleep, Cordelia looked so _small,_ her hair falling to hide her face, her perfectly-manicured hands grasping tightly at his jacket.

He’d told her about the thing with Willow almost as soon as it had happened. He hadn’t intended to, initially—he had known Cordelia for _years,_ and knew how hard she took betrayals like that—but Willow, after being prodded into telling Oz by Jenny, had firmly asserted to Xander that Cordelia really did have a right to know. So he’d told her, and she’d gone _white,_ and she hadn’t talked to him for two days, and he’d been half-convinced that their relationship was over when she’d cornered him by his locker.

“Listen,” she’d said. “I’ve thought this one over long and hard, and you’re kind of the guy who gets caught up in the heat of the moment, right? I mean, you kissed _me_ for the first time in the heat of the moment _,_ and we honest-to-God hated each other back then. So I think I can give you a free pass, ‘cause you told me about it, _but_ only if you can promise—”

Xander hadn’t even let her finish, he was too busy stumbling over all the different things he wanted to promise her and knew that he could. That it had been a one-time thing, that it would never happen again, that as _long_ as they were together he wouldn’t kiss _any_ other girls, that Willow was his best friend and a few wires had gotten crossed, that Cordelia was the only girl he wanted to be with, _nobody_ else—and Cordelia had looked at him, eyes bright and shining and a little stunned, because that had been the first time he’d ever told her anything like that.

And that had changed…literally everything, because all of a sudden, Xander’s feelings for Cordelia had been out there and she’d _known_ about them. But she hadn’t tossed them in his face, or laughed at him, or told him he _clearly_ wasn’t serious—she’d kissed him, and she’d said very shyly that she kind of only wanted to be with him too.

Even now, Xander couldn’t fully understand why the hell she’d trust him like that. He’d made out with another girl. He’d come back groveling—he’d sounded so _pathetically_ like his dad, even as he’d meant every word—and she’d _trusted_ him. All that time spent hating Cordelia made him feel _ridiculous;_ how the hell could he have not realized that he could _never_ be good enough for her?

Cordelia stirred, then, jerking Xander out of his murky self-loathing. She gave him a small, happy grin, and it settled him: whether or not he was good enough for her didn’t _matter._ Not if he made her smile like that.

“Hey, you,” she said. “How long have we been up in the air?”

“Uh, about twenty minutes,” said Xander.

Cordelia made a face. “So what, only nine hours and forty minutes to go?”

“Do you wanna make out?”

“ _Xander!”_ said Cordelia, a laugh in her voice. “We can’t do that! This is an _enclosed space!”_

“If I recall, you seemed perfectly fine with enclosed spaces last year—”

“There’s a difference,” said Cordelia, “between a broom closet with no people and a plane with _many people.”_

“O-kay,” said Xander, grinning, and stole a quick kiss anyway. “So no making out. What _do_ you want to do for the next nine hours?”

* * *

If you had told the Xander Harris of freshman year that he’d be starting off the summer before college playing Twenty Questions on a plane with Cordelia Chase, he’d have immediately wanted to know whether he had suffered some kind of traumatic brain injury. That Xander was kind of a dumbass, all things considered. Cordelia wanted to play sleepover games, and Xander always liked excuses to get to know his girlfriend a little better, and it was pretty ridiculously fun to just hang out with her.

“Is it a vegetable?”

“You _asked_ that,” said Cordelia.

“Did I—oh, yeah, five questions back.” Cordelia wiggled her fingers, pointedly; Xander was down to his last four questions. “Um, is it—is it a fruit?”

“That was _four_ questions back. Are you playing dumb with me?”

“It’s cute that you think I have to _play_ dumb,” said Xander.

Cordelia whacked his shoulder. “Xander Harris, do _not_ sell yourself short,” she said reprovingly. “I’ve had _plenty_ of dumb boyfriends. The fact that we’re on a plane to Paris makes you the absolute smartest one.”

That made Xander laugh. He kind of wished they were at their apartment in Paris already, because there had been _multiple_ times in the last few hours where Cordy was so _Cordy_ that the need to kiss her felt like a physical _ache._ “Fine,” he said. “Is it a carbohydrate? And don’t play dumb with _me,_ I know you know what carbs are.”

 _“Obviously,”_ said Cordelia, “I’m _always_ watching my intake.”

“You know you don’t need to do that, right?”

Cordelia went a little pink. “You wouldn’t say that if I ballooned up to the size of the Yellow Submarine,” she said.

“I’d roll with it,” said Xander, reaching across the armrest to take Cordelia’s hand in his. “I’m dating  _you,_ Cordy. The pretty face is just a bonus.”

Cordelia bit her lip and smiled, eyes going all soft. “You’re totally getting some once we reach our new apartment,” she said.

“Some what?” said Xander, his voice squeaking a little in a totally manly fashion.

“ _Don’t_ play dumb, Xander,” said Cordelia. “And as it happens, it _is_ a carbohydrate.”

“Some _what,_ Cordelia?” said Xander, who had now completely forgotten about their game of Twenty Questions. “Is this because I’m taking you to Paris? Because I didn’t take you to Paris to—to—I’m taking you to Paris because I love you, that’s different, I don’t want you to feel like, like you have to—”

“See, that’s exactly why I _want_ to,” said Cordelia, soft and earnest in a way the Xander Harris of freshman year would never have imagined she could be. “And if it helps, I haven’t—” She turned a little pink, then said, “I mean, you’re not the only one who has reason to be a little nervous. I’d kind of been…waiting. Till it’s someone I care about. So that first time after the Hellmouth opened again—that was my first too.”

 _Oh_ man. Xander thought he might have a heart attack. All those times he’d made fun of Cordelia for the guys she dated—he’d never have even _considered_ that she might have been waiting for the _right_ guy. And she’d dated _football players,_ she’d been at the _top_ of the food chain, she could have had  _any_ guy she wanted—and she wanted _him?_

“Are you sure?” he said quietly.

“Am I ever _not?”_ Cordelia squeezed his hand. “ _Anyway._ I just told you it was a carbohydrate—”

Xander leaned across the armrest and kissed her very softly, his heart fluttering. “I really love you, you know that?” he said shyly, a little floored by how much he _meant_ it. “And I’m gonna get you a whole bunch of croissants in France.” Cordelia’s eyes widened with a mild, surprised alarm, one that didn’t seem entirely related to the sentiment of his statement, and something occurred to Xander. _“Is_ it a croissant?”

“Damn it, I was _so_ close!” said Cordelia indignantly, falling dramatically back against her seat. She turned onto her side, cheek resting against the seat back, and lifted the armrest again, bumping her knees against his. “Okay. Your turn.”

Xander thought. “Got it.”

“Is it a yellow submarine?”

“Just once,” said Xander, “just _once,_ for the sake of my dignity, could you _possibly_ pretend that you’re worse at this game than you are?”

“Nope,” said Cordelia, popping the P with a broad grin.

“Good,” said Xander, and kissed her again.

* * *

When it got late, they fell asleep cuddled up together, and woke up stiff and sore only when the plane landed. Cordelia was adorably mussed, and had hidden herself under Xander’s jacket by the time he’d fully awoken—which made getting off the plane a little difficult.

“Cordy,” he said patiently. “Sweetie. This is kind of part of traveling together.”

“I look _awful!”_ said Xander’s jacket. “And you’ve never seen my hair when I’ve just woken up, it is _not_ good—”

“Remember when you came back from the apocalypse with half your hair gone?” Xander reminded her. “You know, before you got that adorable Parisian bob to even it out? I still thought you looked cute _then—_ ”

“Love is blind,” said Xander’s jacket.

Xander pulled the jacket off before Cordelia could do anything about it, and his heart just about melted. She was right that he’d never seen her like this; her makeup was smudged to the point of being all but gone, her hair overly fluffy on one side and clinging to her head on the other. She looked younger, and softer, and nowhere near the perfectly-polished Cordelia Chase she let other people see.

“ _Xander—_ ” said Cordelia miserably.

Xander caught his face in her hands and kissed her, pulling back to rub his nose against hers. “Cordy, do you have any idea how pretty you are?” he said softly. “Inside and out.”

“Shut _up,_ ” said Cordelia, grinning at him with that big, infectious smile.

Nearby, a flight attendant cleared her throat.

“ _Shit,_ ” said Xander, and he and Cordelia hastily began throwing their stuff together. It took Cordelia longer; she was a _lot_ more cluttered than Xander, and somehow half the contents of her makeup bag had ended up scattered around their seating area. “Sorry!” said Xander to the flight attendant, and waited patiently until his girlfriend had slung her oversized purse over her shoulder, then took her hand and tugged her out into Paris.

Cordelia stopped as soon as they were off the plane, taking everything in with big, wide eyes. Xander was too focused on her to really register the hugeness of the moment, at first, but when he followed her gaze to all the different shops, the signs in French—

 _I’m in Paris,_ he thought. Then, _Whoa. Cool._

“ _Xander!”_ wailed Cordelia, who was pretty clearly still a little overtired from a very long flight, and cuddled into his side. “Xander, we’re in _Paris,_ and I’m going to get to _shop_ in _Paris,_ and we’re going to be having sex in _Paris—_ ”

“Uh, Cordy?” said Xander. “Volume control?”

“I _love you,”_ sobbed Cordelia, throwing her arms around him. Xander really didn’t mind her shouting about _that,_ so he hugged her back, smiling softly into her hair.

* * *

They had had sex for the first time after the whole thing with the Hellmouth, when Xander had told Cordy he loved her and she had smiled all big and bright. They’d snuck up to his bedroom and shut the door, and Xander had thanked every deity in existence for his relatively soundproof walls, because Cordelia, predictably, was _loud_ about what worked for her. Most of it had been the exhilaration of both of them being alive, and Xander had nervously chalked it up to a post-apocalypse buzz—a spur-of-the-moment fluke that might not happen again. He’d come to terms with that.

This was different, though. This was Cordelia looking at him with steady dark eyes, tugging him down onto the bed in the apartment they’d be renting together for the next year (holy _shit,_ that sounded terrifyingly grown-up). There was no adrenaline rush—if anything, it was a little bit the opposite, given that they were both still kind of jetlagged. It wasn’t fast and urgent, but soft and slow, because this wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

Xander fell asleep pretty soon after, a combo of jet lag and that warm, comfy post-sex feeling, and woke up to find his head still pillowed on Cordelia’s stomach. She was stroking his hair absently, staring up at the ceiling with a small smile on her face; she turned her head to look at him when he moved up the bed.

It was dark outside, now, the stars just barely out. She looked so pretty at night. She looked so pretty all the time, really—more so, now that Xander knew the kind of person she really was underneath the makeup. “I love you so much,” he said softly. “I’m really glad we didn’t end up vampire food back in freshman year, ‘cause I’d have hated to miss out on this.”

Cordelia rolled onto her side, bumping her shoulder against his. “Me too,” she said.

“So how’s Paris been treating you?”

“I ordered takeout,” said Cordelia happily. “I had to use that English-to-French dictionary Willow got me.”

“Did you save me anything?”

“There’s probably _some_ coffee,” said Cordelia, waving a dismissive hand. “But you said you liked me at _any_ size, so I ate most of what they brought till I wasn’t hungry, and turns out I was _extremely_ hungry so there isn’t a _lot—_ ”

She didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest, which made Xander grin. “I’m not _that_ hungry,” he said. “We can always order more stuff. So are you gonna want to shop tomorrow, or should we go sightseeing?”

“I want to try more French food,” said Cordelia, settling into his arms. “You’re totally gonna be dating a submarine by the time this vacation is over.”

“Well, she’ll be the cutest submarine I know,” said Xander, kissing her on the cheek. She smelled sweet—all perfume-y and floral—and it made his kiss linger, then slip over to her mouth. She sighed, turning fully into him, and he felt a steady warmth in his chest: being with her was somehow the best thing he’d ever stumbled into.

Cordelia pulled back. “Do you wanna have sex again?” she said. “Because that would be _nice,_ but we  _are_ in Paris, and I think a moonlight stroll would be _so_ totally romantic?” It was one of her usual pointed orders, but it was also very clearly a hopeful question.

“I mean,” said Xander. “We’ll have to get _dressed—_ ”

Pulling herself from his arms, Cordelia all but scrambled for her half-unpacked suitcase, attempting to smooth down her hair and pull on her underwear and apply her lipstick all at the same time. No, not attempting, she was _doing_ it, and _succeeding._ How the hell was she doing it?

“ _Xander,”_ said Cordelia impatiently, “if we wait too long it’ll be too dark!”

Feeling a nervous rush of excitement—the way he always did before an adventure—Xander followed her out of bed.

* * *

They walked hand in hand down the narrow Paris streets, Cordelia stopping every five seconds to demand Xander take a picture of her posed artfully against a brick wall, or looking back over her shoulder as she strolled, or sitting on a bench and smiling beatifically up at the camera. Xander didn’t mind. She was _ridiculously_ cute when she was fussing about the right angle, and the way she looked back at him made it clear that half the joy in her pose came from just enjoying his company.

He was in love, in Paris. There was probably nothing more cliché. He was in love, _so_ in love, with a girl who was light-years out of his league, and he was so fucking terrified of the day she was going to finally figure out how much better she could do than him.


	3. welcome to the family (willow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha don't look at me. this was supposed to be my Big Summer Project but....life happened....college started....and anyway, the braveryverse is Notorious for ridiculous breaks between chapters. y'all who have been following this 'verse long enough, though, know that i always, always come back.
> 
> anyway!! on to the calendar-gileses!

“ _Rupert!”_ shrieked a voice, and Willow was nearly knocked over by two brightly colored blurs. Giles, still extremely jet-lagged from the plane, _was_ knocked over, and fell back against the wall as the blurs—attacked him? No, Willow realized as she squinted, they were _hugging_ him, tightly, babbling over each other with delighted observations.

“Goodness, you’ve grown—”

“—how _tall_ you are, just like your father—”

“—is that _grey_ in your hair? How _abhorrent—_ ”

“—where is that new wife of yours that so deeply distresses the Council, we simply _must_ meet her—”

“ _Thank you, aunts,”_ said Giles very loudly, attempting to wrest himself away from the excitable young women. It didn’t really work. “If you would _please—_ ”

“Oh, you’re not getting away  _that_ fast,” said one of them, pulling back to grin at Rupert. _Whoa,_ thought Willow, and immediately told the gay part of her brain to _please stop._ Unfortunately, the gay part of her brain was kind of all of her brain, which meant that all of her brain was now taking in the fact that _both_ of Giles’s aunts ( _aunts?)_ were _extremely_ pretty. One was blonde, one was brunette, _both_ wearing well-fitting sundresses and high heels that accentuated pretty much all their assets—

“Eyes front, soldier,” said Jenny from behind Willow. Willow jumped. “They’re definitely too old for you.”

“Buffy dated a centuries-old vampire and no one said boo,” said Willow petulantly.

“Listen, if you  _really_ wanna give Rupert a heart attack, definitely date one of his great-aunts,” said Jenny, patting Willow’s shoulder. “But they’re gonna be teaching you magic this whole summer, so I _seriously_ wouldn’t recommend it.”

“ _Great-_ aunts?” said Willow disbelievingly. “They barely look older than _me!”_

 _“Thank_ you, dear,”said the blonde one, swiveling to give Willow a beatific smile. “Goodness, Rupert, what an _adorable_ child! Have you and your new wife started procreating already?”

“ _Should_ we, Rupert?” said Jenny, looking extremely amused by the question.

Giles went very pink and started stammering. The brunette aunt, still hugging him, let go to giggle at his expression. “Good lord, you still do make that face,” she said. “I’d assumed you’d grown out of it by now.”

The blonde came closer, then stuck out her hand to Jenny. “Sophronia Fairweather, but I go by Sophie,” she said warmly. “Welcome to the family, darling.”

“Jenny Calendar—um, Calendar-Giles, now, I guess,” said Jenny, going a little pink herself as she shook Sophie’s hand. “Thank you so much for taking Willow on for the summer. It really means a lot to us.”

“No trouble at all,” said Sophie, a newly mischievous tilt to her smile. “Looking after your daughter _ensures_ that our dear Rupert will be getting the _intimate_ attention he deserves on his honeymoon.”

“Oh, he’s gonna,” said Jenny, grinning back. Noticing that Jenny hadn’t corrected the _daughter_ bit, Willow had to hide a _huge_ smile of her own.

“I _like_ her,” said Sophie, loudly enough that Giles and the other aunt could hear. “Rupert, you were _quite_ smart to lock her down.”

“No one locks Jenny down,” said Giles fondly, crossing the terminal to brush a quick kiss to Jenny’s temple. “The only reason she stayed was because I wasn’t fool enough to try.”

“So?” said the other aunt. “When  _are_ you two getting started on children?”

Giles made a few panicked attempts at answering before giving up. Jenny, unflustered, said with amusement, “Is this _your_ attempt to rattle me, Aunt Lavinia?”

“Oh, he _has_ told you about me,” said Lavinia, sounding pleased. “I rather think I like you too, Mrs. Calendar-Giles.”

As the adults continued to chat and banter and get to know each other, Willow’s gay brain (which was to say, all of her brain) noticed a _flip_ of dark hair in her peripheral vision. She turned almost without thinking, and caught sight of one of the prettiest girls she’d _ever_ seen.

The girl’s hair was dark, and long, which Willow had been expecting. What she _hadn’t_ been expecting was the fact that this girl, even after hours on an international flight, looked almost artfully exhausted—a picture-perfect kind of dishevelment. Her hair was fluffy instead of tangled; her eyes were heavy-lidded but lacked the usual dark circles. She was wearing a sweater and jeans, and she was pulling an expensive-looking wheeled suitcase behind her, and—

And she turned.

And she saw Willow staring, and _smiled._ Sharp and appreciative, eyes giving Willow an up-down glance before a severe-looking older man called, “ _Kennedy,_ for god’s _sake—_ ” and the girl gave Willow a last little smirk, turned, and left.

Willow’s heart was pounding; she couldn’t entirely figure out why. Some part of her felt like she should follow that girl through the airport and ask her— _why were you looking? What were you looking at? Were you looking at me the way I was looking at you?_ But that was _ridiculous,_ she told herself. Ridiculous. She needed to get better at the whole lesbian thing.

“Will?” She felt Jenny’s hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, did you hear me? We need to head back to Lavinia and Sophie’s place— _well,_ Rupert’s place if we’re being technical—”

“I’m fine!” said Willow very loudly, terrified that she might be blushing. “Just tired! Just a little tiny bit tired from the jet lag, you know how jet lag can be, it can be _so_ annoying but I’m _fine—_ ”

Jenny raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly, but didn’t press the issue. “I’m sure you can nap at the manor,” she said. “Come on.”

“Okay!” said Willow. Then, “Wait, what?”

* * *

Giles had a _manor._ An actual _manor_ that he had apparently just never brought up. Jenny didn’t seem all that surprised by this, which Willow _guessed_ made sense because Giles would probably have told _her,_ but it was a _multiple-story estate_ out in the country, with sprawling acres of greenery, and huge spiral staircases, and _horses._

“You’re _rich?”_ Willow squeaked.

“It’s a bit of a grey area,” said Giles sheepishly.

“It really isn’t,” said Jenny, a laugh in her voice. “He only doesn’t think he’s rich because the aunts live in this house and his dad has control of most of the money. I keep _telling_ him that family-money rich is _still_ rich—”

“Most of the Watchers are quite well-off,” said Giles awkwardly. “The Council is an extremely old, _extremely_ affluent organization, and our family has been part of it since its beginning. It stands to reason that we’d see a good percentage of the returns.”

Willow was kind of having trouble reconciling Giles with this giant place. “Did you grow up here?”

Something in Giles’s face closed off, just a little. “Yes,” he said, and his hand reached for his wife’s.

“Oh, Rupert was _such_ a darling boy,” said Sophie from behind them; Willow jumped. “Absolutely precious. I’ll assume, Jenny, that you’d like to see pictures?”

But to Willow’s surprise, Jenny didn’t seem all that interested in the concept. Her attention was entirely on Giles, who now looked a little pale. “You know, Sophie, I love that idea,” she said, eyes never leaving her husband’s, “but I think Rupert and I are both a little tired out. Is it okay if we drop our stuff off in one of the bedrooms and check in with you both a little later?”

“Oh—of course!” said Lavinia. “Rupert, I assume you know which room you and Jenny will be staying in?”

“I think my old room should be fine,” said Giles vaguely. “Yes. Thank you, aunts.” With that, he started up the stairs, Jenny on his arm. Willow couldn’t really make out what Jenny was saying to him, but she was talking in a soft, concerned tone of voice that made Willow more than a little bit worried.

“Is he okay?” she asked the aunts. Normally she’d ask Jenny, but the aunts had known Giles for long enough that maybe they’d have picked up on something too.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Lavinia, in that sweetly condescending tone adults used when they didn’t want to talk to kids about grown-up stuff.

Until that moment, Willow hadn’t realized how accustomed she was to Giles and Jenny answering her questions with as much honesty as they could. Being patronized was an uncomfortable feeling, and she _didn’t_ like it. “With all due respect, great-great-aunt Lavinia,” she said, “if you’re going to be teaching me magic this summer, you’re going to have to respect me enough to give me honest answers.”

Lavinia blinked, then cocked her head, looking at Willow with a new interest. “ _Well,_ ” she said. “I’ll thank you to _never_ call me great-great-aunt again—it makes me sound _horrendously_ old—but you might actually be a worthwhile protégé. I’m quite surprised.”

“Rupert isn’t all that fond of his home,” said Sophie, stepping up to Willow with the same intrigued look in her eyes. They were fascinated by her, Willow realized, and part of her _very_ much enjoyed their scrutiny. The other part, though, the part that Jenny’s and Giles’s attention had nurtured, was quietly alerting Willow that they weren’t interested in _her,_ just her mind and her magic, and getting attached to their approval wouldn’t do anything good. “He never was, not even as a child. We rather expected him to be a bit upset about coming back here, especially now that the Council knows he’s back in town.”

“What?” said Willow. “Why would the Council know? Giles said he only told family—”

Lavinia rolled her eyes a little. “Dear little Willow, we’re not his _only_ family,” she said. “Rupert’s father got wind of his son coming to stay, and now he’s put some hare-brained scheme in motion to bring him back into the fold. You might want to alert your mother before—”

When she said _mother,_ Willow knew she had to mean Jenny—but the lovely warmth of being Giles and Jenny’s kid, of suddenly being accepted as part of Giles’s age-old lineage, was dulled by a growing apprehension. “Before what?”

 _“God,_ this house is huge!” gasped Jenny, appearing on the landing of the front room’s spiral staircase. “Rupert just showed me the attic bedroom, Willow, I wanted to see where you’ll be staying. Can you get your things from the car and bring them up? You can use a levitation charm if you need to—” She stopped, frowning, halfway down the stairs. “Everything okay?”

Willow looked to the aunts, but they looked just as elegantly unassuming as they always had. _Before what?_ she thought. _And why won’t they tell Jenny themselves?_

“Willow?” Jenny prompted.

“Um, fine!” said Willow hastily. “Fine.” She saw Sophie give her an approving, pointed nod, and tried to put aside the nervous, sick feeling in her stomach.

* * *

Willow told Jenny later. She hadn’t really wanted to do it in front of Giles’s strangely foreboding aunts, so as soon as all of her stuff was set up and unpacked, she navigated through the maze of rooms until she’d found an innocuous-looking door that was very slightly ajar. She knocked.

“Come in,” called Jenny in a loud whisper.

The bedroom was a little bit bigger than Giles and Jenny’s room back home, but Willow got the sense that it was one of the smaller ones in the house. It was cluttered, but in a teenage-boy kind of way, and Willow realized that Giles probably hadn’t been back here since he was _her_ age. Someone had come in and cleaned up the room, but it was clear they hadn’t known what they were doing, because the books were stuffed haphazardly into the bookshelf at odd angles.

At first glance, Willow thought Giles was asleep; he was tucked into Jenny’s side, half-propped up on pillows, and his breathing was steady and even. But he lifted his head to look at her, managed a weary smile, and went back to his position, arms tightening around Jenny in the same way Willow had seen Buffy cuddle Mr. Gordo sometimes. Jenny looked a little wrung-out, but she seemed to be trying to smile for Willow’s sake.

Something felt really weird about them being here, Willow thought. She liked the aunts, but it didn’t seem like Giles and Jenny liked anything about their current living situation _but_ the aunts, and that felt unfair. She was glad that Giles and Jenny would only be staying for a week before heading off on their honeymoon—right now, they looked like they _really_ needed some kind of a vacation.

“Everything okay?” Jenny asked quietly.

Willow wavered. She really hated to be the bearer of bad news, especially when Giles and Jenny were both so obviously stressed as it was. But holding back from telling them would probably cause more problems in the long run, so she said, “Um, the aunts mentioned something that kind of got me worried.”

With her free hand, Jenny patted the space next to her on the bed. Gosh, that was a big bed. “Sit,” she said.

Willow did. Giles raised his head a little to look at her, his eyes full of a half-relieved affection. He counted _her_ as something familiar and home-y, Willow realized, and that concept brought a lump to her throat. “So,” she said unsteadily. “Great-great-aunt— _can_ I call her that?”

“It’s apt,” said Giles. “If I’m your family, so is she.”

“And we’re family?” said Willow, a flutter in her chest.

“No, Rupert played the Please Teach My Daughter Magic card with his aunts because you’re just some random stranger,” said Jenny, sardonic and loving at the same time. She reached up to brush a hand through Willow’s hair. “I know you’ve already _got_ parents, but if you want…” She stopped, looking almost ashamed of herself for bringing it up.

“I know I’ve got parents,” said Willow, and snuggled closer. “They’re here.”                                       

It _had_ been years that they’d known each other, she thought. And it wasn’t like she was planning to call Giles and Jenny Mom and Dad, because those words kinda left an acrid taste in her mouth anyway. But Jenny had held her when she had cried through coming out for the first time, and Giles had made her hot chocolate when she felt like her world was ending, and—that was what parents did, right? Real parents? Willow didn’t really have a very good baseline for parenting, but she thought that Giles and Jenny were probably doing an okay job.

She looked up to see how they’d taken her pronouncement, and found herself entirely unsurprised. Giles’s eyes had gone a little misty behind his glasses, and Jenny seemed a little stunned in her delight. “Wow,” she said. “Okay. Just totally skipped a good eighteen years of the kid-having process, huh, Rupert? Got like three of them handed to us ready-made. Four if you count Buffy, but she’s already _got_ a mom—”

“Is now really the time for quipping?” said Giles.

“I’m very emotional. Now’s _definitely_ the time for quipping.” Jenny stretched out an arm, pulling Willow into her other side. Willow nestled in, grinning. “Anyway, Willow, you wanted to tell me something?”

Even the terribleness of the stuff Willow was about to say was softened by the warm, safe feeling she was feeling right now. Which said a _lot,_ because that stuff was _terrible._ Willow swallowed, then said, “Great-great-aunts Sophie and Lavinia said something about some Council plan to get Giles back into the fold. And they said I should specifically warn Jenny.”

Jenny stilled, then turned her head to look at Giles. “Do you think—”

“Oh, they’re _not_ going to go after you,” said Giles. His voice was laughing, but his eyes were steel. “Even if they _were_ stupid enough to disregard the fact that you stabbed Travers, they know me well enough to know I’d rip them limb from bloody limb if they tried.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Jenny agreed, but she was still frowning a little. “If it’s not an attack, though—”

“I’d wager a guess at some sort of attempt at diplomacy,” said Giles. “And if it’s that, we can really just put it out of our minds.”

“Rupert—” Jenny began.

“Giles,” said Willow, “I really don’t think we should just—”

“There is no offer they can give me that I would want,” said Giles with a simple, steady conviction. “Not when my life is so full of joy as it is.”

Jenny smiled, tenderly, but the worry hadn’t left her eyes. Willow couldn’t help but feel the same way.

* * *

“What do you think they want from him?”

 _“Honestly?”_ Buffy’s voice was staticky, but the worry was still evident. _“I have no idea. I mean, he really is happy, Willow, I don’t think they can buy him off or get him to leave Jenny or something—”_

The thought twisted Willow’s stomach. “They _did_ say I should warn Jenny,” she said. “What if the Council wants to try and convince him that she’s ruining his life, or something? What if he believes them? What if he breaks Jenny’s heart and leaves her not even a month into their marriage and sends us back home to Sunnydale and I can’t learn magic because Jenny’s heart is too broken to even teach anyone anything ever again? What if—”

 _“Will?”_ said Buffy. _“Slow down. It’s not gonna be that bad.”_

“But what if it _is?”_

 _“Look, you know Giles,”_ said Buffy gently. _“You do. We do. He loves Jenny more than pretty much anything. Whatever they have to say about her is probably gonna end up with Giles punching someone in the face. The last thing he’s gonna do is break her heart, okay?”_

“Buffy, I think about last summer all the time,” said Willow shakily. “All the time. She was so hurt when he left, and she didn’t have anybody to talk to about it. If that happens again—”

There was a knock on the attic door.

“Oh, I—I have to go,” said Willow, terrified that Jenny might have heard her. “Call you later?”

 _“I’ll use that spell Giles gave me to send you the hotel number,”_ said Buffy. _“Don’t worry, okay? It’s going to be fine. I love you.”_

“Love you,” Willow echoed, and hung up, then crossed the room to open the door.

Giles gave her a small, gentle smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said. “I must apologize.”

“Oh _no,_ ” said Willow miserably. “Giles, _I’m_ sorry! I just meant—I really, really, really love Jenny—”

“Well, we do have that in common,” said Giles, reaching out to squeeze Willow’s shoulder. He stepped past her and into the bedroom, sitting down on her bed, and patted the spot on the bed next to him. Willow sat down, and he took her hands. “Jenny is of the mind,” he said, “that you will worry yourself to death over this Council thing if I don’t have a solid conversation with you. And after hearing bits and pieces of your conversation with—Buffy?” Willow nodded. “I can’t help but agree with her.”

“Jenny seemed worried too,” said Willow.

“Jenny is,” Giles agreed. “For different reasons than you. She is afraid that the Council’s attempts to win me over might end with them somehow hurting me through diplomatic action, and that’s the very last thing she wants. I assured her what I will again assure you: there is _nothing_ I want from them.”

“But what if—” Willow swallowed. “What if it’s something we haven’t thought of?”

“I don’t doubt that it will be,” Giles said, and let go of one of Willow’s hands to give one of her pigtail braids a reassuring tug. “They are terrible men, but they are quite smart about attempting to get what they want. But Willow, they have _not_ accounted for one thing.”

“What?” said Willow doubtfully.

Giles looked at her, eyes all soft and misty, and then he leaned in and pulled her into a hug. Startled, Willow hesitated, then hugged him back—and wow, he was a _really_ good hugger, because all of a sudden she felt safe and secure. Like everything might really be okay.

Giles pulled back. “Whatever they have thought of,” he said softly, “it will not change how much I love my family, and that all my decisions are made to protect my wife and my children. That can never be altered without altering _me,_ and the Council isn’t in the habit of  _direct_ mind control.”

That made Willow giggle, albeit a little wetly. “You promise we’ll be okay?” she said.

“Of _course,_ ” Giles murmured.

He was probably lying, Willow thought, just a tiny bit. But parents did that too sometimes for their kids, so she decided that this time she’d let it slide.


	4. good enough (faith)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as a heads-up: some allusions are made to faith's life in boston, & her less-than-healthy, mostly-transactional relationship to sex before sunnydale.

The phone rang like seventeen times before anybody picked it up. As soon as the ringing stopped, Faith said, _“Finally,_ ” then realized with an abrupt jolt that there probably _was_ some kind of a time difference. Whoops.

_“Everything okay?”_

Oh, thank god. Jen had picked up the phone. Anyone else and Faith would have had to ask them for Jen, and then they’d know that she needed _something,_ because generally you don’t call Jen if your long-planned road trip with your super-hot girlfriend is going _perfectly,_ you call Jen if it’s going _bad,_ and it was _not_ going bad it was just—

 _“Faith?”_ Jen prompted, sounding less sleepy and more worried.

Faith glanced over at the closed bathroom door. Thank _fuck_ Buffy took long showers. “Uh,” she said. “So. We reached our first motel just fine.”

 _“Okay,”_ said Jen, and Faith could almost _hear_ that wry little smile in her voice. It made the situation feel a little better. _“Glad to hear it. Hon, you know it’s three AM over here, right?”_

“Yeah,” said Faith. She swallowed, fingers tightening around the receiver. “Yeah. Listen, Jen—” Fuck. How was she supposed to launch into this?

But then, by some goddamn _miracle,_ Jen asked, _“How’s Buffy?”_

“Great,” said Faith, feeling a sense of helpless relief. “That’s the fucking—that’s the problem. Jen, we’re—I mean, she’s—” She took a steadying breath, then said, “Can I ask you a question?”

_“Always.”_

“How do you—” Faith glanced towards the closed bathroom door, then back again. “So I’ve had sex before I came to Sunnydale,” she blurted out, stomach churning in the way it had right after she’d told Jen she liked Buffy. Most people didn’t really have nice things to say about Faith having sex. “And B—I mean, the last time she had it, the _only_ time she had it, it was somebody she really loved.” She paused, giving Jen an opening to say something, but Jen didn’t. Which made Faith brave enough to keep going. “And I’m not—I mean, I had sex with a _lot_ of people, ‘cause sometime I needed shit from people that they wouldn’t give without sex. And B probably sees sex as some big lovey-dovey thing, and if _we’re_ gonna have sex than I want to make sure she knows she’s getting someone who’s already—” She swallowed. “Um. Already been used. Or whatever.”

There was a long silence. Then Jen made this pained noise and said, _“Faith. Faith, I—”_ And Faith _knew_ Jen well enough to know what it meant when Jen was making noises like that: it meant that Jen wanted to wrap Faith up in her arms and hold her really tight.

Knowing that Jen still wanted that—that Faith’s admission hadn’t _changed_ that—felt like enough of a hug in its own right. “I just don’t know what to do,” she said unsteadily. “B still—I mean, sex still _means_ something to her. I don’t think it does for me.”

Jen made another little sobbing noise, then said, _“Just—give me a second, okay?”_

“Yeah,” said Faith dully. “Yeah. Sure.”

She heard a rustling sound, and then footsteps, and then, in the background, the muffled sound of someone crying very hard. The reception wasn’t that great, but Faith’s Slayer hearing was still able to pick up Giles’s warm, worried tones in the background—and she could imagine the scene, probably. Jen curling into Giles’s chest and refusing to tell him what was wrong.

Faith still hadn’t gotten used to someone giving a shit about what had happened to her. She felt like she was intruding, listening in on something like that, and so she set the receiver down herself.

Buffy poked her head out of the bathroom, wrapped in a tiny towel, hair stringy and wet. “Everything okay?”

Faith tried to smile. “Just calling Jen,” she said.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Whoa,” she said. “ _Is_ everything okay?”

“Yeah, can you just, can you give me a minute?” said Faith uncertainly. “I think I really upset her. I’ll just—” She motioned towards the receiver.

“Sure,” said Buffy, now looking pretty concerned. She hesitated, then backed into the bathroom, and Faith heard the sound of the hair dryer switching on.

Faith picked up the receiver again. Now there wasn’t any sound at all. “Jen?” she said.

Jen drew in a breath. _“Fuck,”_ she said. _“Sorry. That was not very graceful of me.”_

“You’re good,” said Faith carefully. “Sorry if I—”

 _“No, you’re fine,”_ said Jen firmly. _“I just—”_ She exhaled. _“I love you very much,”_ she said. _“I think you know that by now. And sometimes it is really…it is so intensely hard to know that you’ve gone through stuff that I wasn’t there to help support you through.”_

“We didn’t even know each other,” said Faith, trying to laugh.

 _“It doesn’t matter,”_ said Jen quietly. _“I hate thinking about you in that position.”_

Faith didn’t entirely like the way that sounded. “I’m not some fuckin’ tragic heroine,” she said, a little more acidly than she’d intended. “Don’t act like I needed to be _saved_ from sex, like I’m _ruined_ now—”

 _“Faith, you know that’s not why I’m upset, right?”_ Jen’s voice was steady, now, calm and unwavering. _“I’m not upset because you’ve had sex before. The choices you make are yours to make. I’m upset because you think that those choices have somehow made you less than Buffy.”_

Somehow, when Jen laid it out like that, it sounded _terrible._ The thought of other people thinking that of her made Faith want to punch a wall—but some small, hurting part of _her_ felt like it was _true._ Faith swallowed, leaning against the wall. “Haven’t they?”

 _“Never,”_ said Jen. _“Never ever.”_

“What if she doesn’t think so?”

Jen scoffed. _“Then she and I are gonna have a problem,”_ she said, as if it were obvious. _“Look, you’re not—”_ She took a breath, then tried again. _“So you’ve had sex with a handful of people, right?”_

“Why are we having this conversation?”

_“Stay with me, Faith. It’s a yes-or-no question.”_

Faith chewed on her bottom lip. Part of her felt like this might be a trick question—like Jen might just be waiting to pull the rug out from under her and gasp _multiple people? And you so young? Shameful!_ But she still remembered how it had felt, months ago, when Jen had held her tight in that burnt-out factory building and whispered  _I love you too._ She steadied herself, then said, “Yes.”

 _“Okay,”_ said Jen, a note of satisfaction in her voice. _“Then you should know that every time with a different person is different. It’s not like your past experiences have anything to do with the way you feel about Buffy, right?”_

Faith blinked. She felt almost like a weight had been lifted. “No,” she said. “No, they—I don’t even think about them when I’m with her.”

 _“Then I don’t think it matters whether or not sex is a big romantic gesture for you,”_ said Jen. _“I think it just matters whether or not sex is something you’re interested in—”_ She coughed. _“With Buffy. God, I hope Rupert isn’t up, he’d have an aneurysm if he listened in on this call.”_

As if on cue, there was a series of crashes in the background, and then Giles’s voice shouting, _“THAT WASN’T ME.”_ Startled, Faith started laughing.

 _“Poor baby,”_ said Jen, a giggle in her voice. _“He loses absolutely all of his common sense when I catch him in the act.”_

Faith was pretty sure her laughter was kinda transitioning into…fuck. Something else. She sniffled, roughly wiping her eyes, and nearly dropped the receiver. Holding it to her ear with her shoulder, she said unsteadily, “I just want—I just wanna be—she’s so _good,_ Jen. How the fuck am I supposed to be good enough for her?” And _that_ felt more like what she was really worried about.

 _“You are one of the best and bravest people I know,”_ said Jen, as though it was the simplest truth in the world. _“It takes a lot of courage to be able to love people after you’ve seen the worst that can happen to them. The fact that you love Buffy as deeply as you do—that you’re trying so hard to be someone that she and your family will be proud of—”_

 _I don’t have a family,_ Faith thought reflexively. But what came out, soft and shaking, was, “Do I have a family?”

 _“Isn’t that who you call when you’re scared?”_ There was a gentle laugh in Jen’s voice, and it warmed Faith to her _bones. “Isn’t that who picks up, no matter what time it is?”_

Faith exhaled, a relieved almost-sob, and fell against the wall.

 _“I love you,”_ said Jen. _“Rupert loves you. I’m pretty sure Willow loves you too, at this point, which is pretty surprising considering how jealous she was of you at first, but—well. I think she gets it now.”_ Faith could almost _hear_ the smile in Jen’s voice. _“If you need me to tell you that you’re a good person, I will. A thousand times over. But I think it’s more important for you to remember that whether or not you’re good, you’re loved.”_

“I miss you,” said Faith, surprised by how much she meant it. “I like it better when you’re here than when you’re not.”

 _“Well, that’s a glowing endorsement,”_ said Jen tenderly. _“But as I recall, you have a pretty awesome road trip planned for the summer, and I’d hate to think of you missing out on it simply because you miss me.”_

Faith grinned. “Yeah,” she said. Then, “ _Shit,_ B’s still hiding out in the bathroom!”

_“What?”_

“I told her I was on the phone with you—” Faith winced. “Never mind. Uh, I should probably go, and…you should too, right?”

_“As long as you’re okay?”_

“Mostly,” said Faith honestly.

 _“Call me if you need anything,”_ Jen reminded her. _“Anything at all. Even if you just need me to tell you how great you are. I am an excellent cheerleader.”_

Faith scoffed. “You’re more of a football player,” she said, and grinned a little at Jen’s delighted laugh. “I love you.”

 _“I love you too,”_ said Jen, the last word broken off by a yawn. _“Bye, honey.”_

“Bye, Mom,” said Faith, and hung up _very_ fast before Jen could respond. She hesitated, then knocked on the bathroom door. “Uh, B? We’re good.”

Buffy poked her head out, her hair now dry and overly fluffy around her head. “Is Jenny okay?”

Faith gave Buffy a small, wry smile. “She was mostly upset ‘cause I was upset,” she said. “It was a whole thing.”

“Upset about what?” asked Buffy a little nervously.

Faith hesitated, then took Buffy’s hands, tugging her over so that they could sit down on the edge of the bed. Talking to B felt a little less scary, now that she’d talked to Jen. “So you probably gathered that sex isn’t exactly a _new_ thing for me,” she said tentatively. “And I, uh, felt kinda—like maybe you’d want someone more on your level, or something.”

“Are you saying that I’m not on your level?” said Buffy, visibly injured.

 _“No,_ ” said Faith fiercely. “I’m saying there’s no way in _hell_ I’m anywhere close to being what you are—”

“All right, Faith, I’m gonna have to stop you right there,” said Buffy, her face relaxing. “The last guy I dated was _all_ about how much better I was than him, and you know what? It gets old. I think I wanna date someone who gets that I love them a _whole_ lot, and that it _sucks_ to hear somebody you love talking about how really, I should love somebody better. I love _you,_ Faith. Okay?”

She smiled, sweetly earnest, and Faith felt herself smiling tentatively back. “I just thought,” she said. “Maybe you’d want someone better than me.”

“I hope Jenny told you that you were being stupid,” said Buffy. “Did she tell you that you were being stupid?”

“You know Jen wouldn’t do that,” said Faith, her smile widening into an outright grin.

 _“Well,_ ” said Buffy, and squeezed Faith’s hands. “You’re being _stupid,_ Faith.” She leaned forward, draping her arms around Faith’s neck, and kind of bonked her forehead against Faith’s. “But you’re _my_ stupid Faith, okay?”

Faith had never been anyone’s before. Not like that. Her grin wobbled, and softened, and she leaned forward and kissed Buffy—and she didn’t feel that same unsatisfied _ache_ as she did after patrol, or that half-bored pleasure that she had with other people back in Boston. Kissing Buffy felt like someone had lit a quiet fire inside her, warming her from the inside out. She felt safe, and happy, and—

“I wanna take things slow,” she blurted out, pulling back. The words startled her as much as they did a wide-eyed Buffy. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to—I mean, we can cuddle and stuff ‘cause we’ve always done that but—” She swallowed, unused to feeling so nervous. “I wanna get used to the girlfriend stuff,” she said. “If that’s okay. Is that okay?”

Buffy blinked, then smiled, reaching up to tenderly tuck a loose strand of hair behind Faith’s ear. “You waited around for me to figure myself out, didn’t you?” she said. “I’m glad I’m gonna get the chance to return the favor.”

* * *

They ordered a pizza, and when it arrived, they spent the rest of the night dripping pizza grease onto the bedsheets and watching whatever was on cable. Buffy, as it turned out, had an adorable habit of criticizing the physics of action movies. “That’s _not_ how that works,” she was saying. “Did you see the way his head snapped back? He’d have broken his _neck_ if it had happened in real life—”

“Movie, babe,” said Faith patiently.

“How are you _okay_ with this?” Buffy glared accusingly up at Faith. “You fight vampires, you _know_ this isn’t how it’s supposed to go—”

“Cookie,” said Faith, “it’s a fuckin’ movie. If I wanted to break my brain tryin’ to figure out why the fighting doesn’t make sense, I’d have to break my brain tryin’ to figure out why all the ladies are running around in six-inch heels. Now—” She stopped. Buffy’s eyes had gone very wide. “What?”

“Did you just call me _cookie?”_ said Buffy.

Faith blinked. She played back what she’d just said. “Uh, I don’t—I don’t _think_ I did—”

“You _so_ did,” said Buffy. A slow, delighted smile was spreading across her face. “Faith, am I your _cookie?_ Am I your _cookie,_ Faith?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m never gonna live this shit down,” said Faith, tugging Buffy closer into her side and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t blushing. “Listen, it was an _accident—”_

“What kind of cookie am I?” Buffy persisted. “Chocolate chip? Snickerdoodle?”

“Sugar,” said Faith without thinking, then _felt_ her cheeks heat up. “And—and it’s not like I was thinking about it—!”

“Faith Lehane,” said Buffy happily. “Closet softie. Who’d have guessed?”

“I’m not in _any_ closets,  _thanks,_ ” said Faith, and punctuated her point by flipping her girlfriend into the pillows, pressing kisses to a giggling Buffy’s neck. She steadied herself with a hand at Buffy’s waist—

—and the mood shifted. Buffy stopped laughing. Faith pulled back, and saw the way Buffy’s lips were parted, felt Buffy’s breathing stutter as her hands reached up to brace against Faith’s shoulders—

 _Want, take, have,_ Faith thought—a motto she’d abandoned in Boston. For half a second, she was back in some sleazy motel room, pushing some nameless girl into the pillows, caught up in pleasure and warmth—and then she pulled back, shaking.

“Faith?” Buffy sat up, eyes worried. “Was that too much? If you want—”

 _“No,_ ” said Faith, and reached out to grip Buffy’s hands. “I’m—fuck.” She turned back towards the television. Eyes trained on the screen, she said, “I don’t know if you’d have liked the girl I was before you met me.”

There was a brief silence. Then Buffy said, “Thing is, Faith, I _did_ meet that girl.”

“Yeah?” said Faith stiffly.

“Total disaster hottie,” said Buffy. _“Exactly_ my type.”

That surprised Faith into laughter—a warm, happy laugh that made Buffy smile too. She turned onto her side, nestling herself against Buffy this time. “I’m gonna get there,” she promised.

“And if you don’t, that’s okay too,” said Buffy gently.

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

Buffy kissed the top of Faith’s head. “You know I don’t do that,” she said simply.

And the thing was, Faith kind of believed her.

* * *

They fell asleep cuddled up next to each other, the empty pizza box knocked gracelessly to the floor after a more successful makeout session that _hadn’t_ ended with Faith flipping her lid a little. Faith fell asleep first, because she always did, and that night she had a really fuckin’ nice dream where it was Willow and Xander’s we-got-into-college party all over again. Only this time it was Buffy under the tree with her, head resting on Faith’s shoulder, fingers curling quietly into the sleeve of Faith’s leather jacket, and she was mumbling in a low, happy voice about their plans for the future.

Faith woke up in the middle of the night, because she always did, and realized two things: first of all, she hadn’t had nightmares in at least a month, and second, this was the first time she’d woken up to something just as good as what she’d been dreaming. It felt like this summer might go okay, Faith thought, and so she kissed the top of her girlfriend’s head and went back to sleep.


	5. margot! ça va? (cordelia)

Paris was _amazing._ Cordelia couldn’t believe that she was lucky enough to have a guy who would freaking _take her to Paris on a whim._ Like, that was the kind of rom-com crap she’d always told herself she was too old and too experienced to believe in (no matter how much time she spent daydreaming about it in math class), but _here he was!_ Taking her to Paris, holding her hand, telling her how pretty she was…it was everything she’d ever imagined as a kid.

Well, to be _completely_ honest, she’d never imagined that her dream guy would be _Xander Harris,_ but baby Cordelia had been pretty dumb sometimes. Not _now,_ though. No, now Cordelia was intelligent, and cultured, and—

“OOH SHOES!” said Cordelia, tightening her grip on Xander’s hand to pull him to a stop. “Xander, _look_ at those shoes!”

“Uh,” said Xander, squinting at the glitzy, glittery heels in the boutique window. “They look…kinda painful?”

“My mom always said that you have to suffer for fashion,” said Cordelia, eyes fixed on the way the golden sparkles caught the light. Those would go _so_ nice with her little yellow dress, she thought, the one in her closet back home—

And then she remembered with a small jolt that she was living in Paris for a year, away from college and her parents, because her dad had run the Chase family into the ground. Her favorite clothing had been packed in two tiny little suitcases to bring to her and Xander’s new apartment. The stuff that hadn’t been packed had been sold to help finance this trip. The little yellow dress, the one she’d worn with the shimmery headband and the pink lip glossand the soft white cardigan, had been placed in the pile to sell.

Cordelia felt a strange sense of loss as she looked at the shoes. They belonged to a different girl, she thought. A carefree, careless girl. A girl who wasn’t holding hands with Xander in Paris, because the Cordelia Chase who had shopped ‘till she dropped would never have given Xander the time of day. And it wasn’t as though she _wanted_ to be that girl again—that girl would’ve missed out on a wonderful guy—but she felt the absence of that girl, sometimes. It was a weird feeling to have.

“You okay?” said Xander.

Cordelia rested her head against Xander’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” she said absently.

Xander turned his head and kissed her temple.

_“Cordelia!”_

Cordelia turned, eyes wide. The voice sounded familiar. Why did the voice sound familiar? She scanned the sidewalk, searching for the source of the voice. Old guy on his cell phone. Mom walking hand-in-hand with her little girl. Young man holding an ice cream cone, walking side by side next to—

 _“Margot!”_ said Cordelia, and her heart skipped a beat. Raising her hand to adjust her adorable red beret, she let Xander’s drop, hurrying down the sidewalk towards Margot in a way that she hoped looked at least _reasonably_ cool. _“Ça va?”_

 _“Pas mal,_ Cordy,” said Margot, giving her a lipsticked grin. “Your French is a little better since last we met.”

“A little?” scoffed Cordelia.

“But not by much.”

“Hey—!” Cordelia couldn’t keep up the indignant façade for all that long. Moving forward, she pulled Margot into a hug, making sure to keep her black-and-white shirt away from the strawberry ice cream cone Margot was holding. Margot still smelled like expensive perfume, this close. “But seriously though. How have you been?”

“Well—”

“Cordelia, wait up!” A little out of breath, Xander half-tumbled towards Cordelia and Margot, steadying himself with an awkward hand on Cordy’s shoulder. The part of Cordelia that had wanted those shoes couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of dorky Xander next to effortlessly gorgeous Margot, but the bigger part of Cordelia—the better part of Cordelia—felt warmed by Xander’s clumsy sincerity. She leaned into him. “Uh, hey,” said Xander, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “You know these guys?”

Margot gave Xander a long look. Finally, and still with that delectable French accent of hers, she said, “My name is Margot Daniels, and this is my boyfriend Sebastian. Cordelia and I were briefly acquainted in Tuscany about a year ago, when both of our families were taking us on vacation. I assume you’re here again with your parents, _chérie?”_

“Um,” said Cordelia tightly. Margot had only known the cheerfully wealthy Cordelia; she didn’t know what Margot would think of the newly-penniless person she was now.

“Nah, Cordy and I are on vacation,” said Xander, and Cordelia felt a reassuring hand at the small of her back. _God,_ she really was dating the perfect guy. “We’re spending a year in Paris together for funsies. I didn’t know she had any friends here.”

“Oh—well,” said Margot, “we met in _Tuscany,_ after all. Exactly what part of France I was from didn’t really come up in conversation.”

Not a lot had come up in conversation, as Cordelia remembered. Margot had only been in Tuscany for a few days. The last time they’d seen each other had been Margot’s hotel room—and Cordelia had no intention of telling Xander about _that._ “Yeah, it’s really awesome to see you,” she said, giving Margot her biggest and best fake smile. It _had_ been awesome to see Margot, at least at first—but the reality of the situation was sinking in, and all of a sudden she felt like she _really_ needed to get out of there.

Xander’s eyes darted between Margot and Cordelia. “You guys wanna come over or something?” he offered. “Cordy and I haven’t really made any friends yet, and—”

 _Goddamn it,_ Xander. There was good, and then there was _too_ good. Couldn’t he pick up on any of the tension? “Oh, it’s okay, I’m sure Margot’s busy,” hedged Cordelia, “she’s always jetting off to cool places like Milan or Tokyo—”

“Don’t undersell yourself, _chérie.”_ And there was that drop-dead-gorgeous smile of Margot’s again—the one that had melted Cordelia’s heart a year ago. “I can always make time for an old friend.”

* * *

“So she seems cool,” said Xander when they got home, hanging up his coat on their newly-purchased coatrack and running a hand through the sticky-uppy parts of his hair. “Her boyfriend was kinda quiet, I guess, but that was probably ‘cause mostly you two were talking.”

“Xander, _why_ did you do that?” Cordelia demanded.

Xander looked somewhat startled. “Why’d I do what?”

Cordelia let out a frustrated breath. There was no way to explain the situation with Margot without, well, _explaining the situation with Margot,_ and she had _no_ idea how Xander would take that. “She and I haven’t seen each other in _forever,_ ” she said instead. “The only Cordelia Chase she knows is the one who had cash to burn and shopping trips to make, and I’m not that girl anymore.”

“Cordy,” said Xander, patting her shoulder. “Money or no money, you know you’re still the same old perfect Cordelia, right?”

“But that’s not—”

Xander kissed her on the cheek. He didn’t seem to be actually looking at her. “They said they’d be over for dinner, right?” he said. “I should probably get started on making them something to eat. Giles taught me how to make this really awesome pasta dish, and I bought most of the ingredients for it last night.”

Cordelia took another, longer look at Xander. Something about the way he was avoiding her eyes made her feel like she wasn’t the only one here with a secret. “Xander,” she said, “are _you_ okay?”

“You know me,” said Xander, giving her a lopsided smile. “I’m always fine.”

“That’s not necessarily true—”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to greet your guests?” said Xander, turning back towards the kitchen.

Cordelia let out a frustrated breath. Usually Xander was more willing to talk about stuff, and she couldn’t understand why he was acting like they were both sixteen again. But he was right—Margot _was_ showing up pretty soon, probably with a whole bunch of sophisticated French friends in tow—and so she headed to their bedroom, crossing to her significantly smaller closet and opening the door.

Most of this stuff was more practical than fashionable, a fact that hadn’t bothered Cordelia until right now. Part of her knew that the concept of wanting to impress Margot was patently ridiculous, especially when she had someone as incredible as Xander in her life, but…she just didn’t think it was _fair,_ that she’d had to grow up so fast thanks to stupid decisions her dad had made. She should have gotten at least a few more years to be vapid and self-centered and preoccupied with shopping. She missed the version of herself that had been _cool,_ not…whatever it was that she’d turned into now. Xander wouldn’t have looked at this girl twice.

With a small, tired sigh, Cordelia began to undress, throwing her clothing haphazardly to the floor. She ran her fingers along the hangers, trying to find the best dress she could among the leftovers, and settled on a purplish one that would match her best pair of heels. “Xander?” she called, pulling the dress over her head.

“Yeah?” called Xander from the kitchen.

“Zip me up?”

Xander came in, wearing his special chef apron that he always _insisted_ on putting on when he cooked. He wiped his hands on the apron, then stepped behind Cordelia, carefully pulling the zipper up. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.

Normally, that would have been enough to settle Cordelia’s nerves. But the fact that Xander had called her the _same old perfect Cordelia_ hadn’t sat right with her, especially coupled with his unusual spaciness. “Are you okay?” she asked again.

Xander kissed the top of her head. “With you as my girlfriend, how could I not be?”

That didn’t make Cordelia feel any better.

* * *

Despite Cordelia’s worries about hordes of French socialites, Margot showed up with only Sebastian at her side, wearing an entirely different designer outfit that looked just as extravagantly expensive as her first one. To Cordelia’s great surprise, she took the apartment situation in stride. “Such a nice little place!” she said warmly. “So very— _comment dit-on—_ ” She snapped her fingers, frowning and mumbling to herself in French, then: “ _Cozy!”_

“So I’m not the only one struggling here, huh?” teased Cordelia, taking Margot’s bags to set them down on the coffee table.

“Pfft.” Margot grinned. “This is Paris. I have no need to speak English here. If anything, Cordy, it is _you_ who should be making the effort.”

“Hey, who’s the host?” Cordelia countered. “You’re on _my_ turf right now.”

“And what _lovely_ turf it is!” Margot agreed with a warm laugh.

Cordelia was starting to feel a little better now that Margot was actually here, especially since Margot was so freaking _nice._ She was used to the rich girls of California, the ones like Harmony and Aura who dropped you like day-old chowder if you weren’t cool enough—but Margot was admiring the dumb lamp they’d bought at a cheap furniture store down the street. “ _Adorable!”_ she proclaimed. “There clearly are benefits to living modestly—your apartment stands as a testament to that.”

“Oh, it’s all Cordy,” said Xander, giving Margot his first genuine smile of the night. “She can’t help but kill it when it comes to interior décor, no matter how tiny our budget.”

Margot chewed on her lip, looking a little nervous. Tentatively, she said, “Please let me know if I am overstepping, and of course you do not have to answer if you do not want to, but…Cordelia, am I wrong to assume that your financial situation has changed somewhat since last we met?”

Cordelia hesitated. Just as uncertainly, she said, “Yeah, it. It kinda has. My dad was indicted for tax fraud and my family kinda lost everything.”

Margot let out a soft breath. “I am deeply sorry,” she said. “That must have been quite difficult for you.”

“Yeah, well.” Cordelia managed an awkward smile. “It hasn’t been all bad. I have a really kickass boyfriend who’s willing to move to Paris with me just to make me feel better.”

Margot smiled back. “Then you have not lost the most important riches,” she said. “Sebastian and I, we are similar in that respect. He is my other half.”

“Oh, I don’t know if Xander’s my _other half,_ ” said Cordelia immediately. “I don’t really like the concept of _other halves._ I’m a totally great whole person even when Xander’s not around, and he’s his own whole person when I’m not there. I mean, sure, it’s romantic to think about someone who fits in your life like a puzzle piece, but at the same time, _ech._ What happens if your other puzzle piece doesn’t wanna stick around? Then you’re just left being half a person. Sounds gross.”

Margot looked mildly surprised, at least at first, but after a few seconds her smile returned with a vengeance. “I _have_ missed your way with words,” she said. “You are remarkably quick-witted. It was what first drew me to you in Tuscany, you know—most people in my social circles are interested only in maintaining their image. You are wholly and completely yourself, and you expect others to accept you as such. I find that admirable.”

 _Whoa._ How had Cordelia totally misread Margot? She’d been imagining a cutthroat French socialite who would jump at the chance to make fun of Cordelia’s apartment—but instead, there was this nice, smart girl who just happened to be rich. “You’re _really_ sweet,” she said with a nervous laugh, feeling herself begin to blush. Goddamn it, now she _was_ thinking about that night in Tuscany. And obviously she was with Xander and that totally wasn’t going to change, but—

“Xander is a lucky, lucky man,” said Margot finally, patting Cordelia’s shoulder. “And speaking of!” She turned, then, to Xander, who had been watching Cordelia and Margot talk with that same strange expression on his face. “Xander, _oui?_ How has Paris been treating you thus far?”

“Oh, uh, pretty great,” said Xander with an awkward grin. “Kind of difficult considering that I can’t speak French, but Cordy’s been giving me pointers.”

Margot frowned. “How long are you staying?”

“We’re thinking a year,” said Xander.

“And you cannot speak French?” Margot looked genuinely worried. “That might prove difficult for you.”

“Well, I…” Xander trailed off, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t really think about it,” he mumbled. “Not till now, at least.”

Taking in Xander’s visible discomfort, Margot turned her concerned expression into a gently encouraging smile. “A romantic at heart, then,” she teased playfully, resting a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “So focused on sweeping dear Cordy off her feet that you forgot to account for a few things. Sebastian could learn a thing or two, I am sure.”

“Hands off my man,” said Cordelia, only half-joking. That was _her_ Xander.

Margot made a show of raising her hands up and away. “So!” she said. “What shall we do tonight?”

* * *

Buying wine at the grocery store had made Cordelia feel so cool and grown-up at the time, but bringing it out in all its cheap glory made her feel a little ridiculous in front of Margot and Sebastian. Margot, of course, was totally fine with it, but some weird, awful part of Cordelia felt like Margot _shouldn’t_ be. If the situation had been reversed—if it had been Cordelia with riches and Margot newly-poor—would Cordelia have been so graceful, so kind? Would Cordelia have kept her mouth shut about the cheap wine and complimented the tiny apartment?

She tried to settle her nerves by taking a sip of wine. It didn’t help all that much.

“You and your Cordelia will of course have to attend the upcoming Midsummer Gala,” Margot was saying to Xander. “Sebastian’s family hosts it at their mansion, and he makes such a big production out of it. This year the theme will be—what was it, Sebastian?”

Sebastian (who, Cordelia had learned, spoke minimal English but understood it pretty well) said something in French.

“ _Merci.”_ Margot pressed a kiss to Sebastian’s cheek, leaving a pink lipstick mark against his dark skin. “I am so forgetful,” she said with a laugh. “ _Happily-Ever-After_ is the theme this year, and so all the guests will be dressing as fairy-tale princes and princesses.”

“Oh,” said Cordelia uncomfortably, thinking back to her wardrobe’s meager offerings. “Um, I don’t know if—”

“If you and Xander would like to come over in a few days and look through my closet, I would be happy to host you!” said Margot earnestly.

Xander let out a small laugh. “Don’t know if anything in your closet would fit _me,_ Margot,” he said, grinning, “but I’d be happy to check it out anyway.”

Margot giggled too. “Well, I have two brothers,” she said, “and one of them might be around your size. Our tailor can always make alterations—ah, Cordy, don’t make that face at me! Money is no object, and I appreciated your company in Tuscany last year.”

God, what the hell had Cordelia _done_ last year to make this hot, sweet girl like her so much? “Well, thanks,” she said, and took another sip of wine. “On all accounts. It’s always lovely to get invited somewhere fancy.”

“If one has riches, the best thing to do is share them,” replied Margot simply, leaning slightly against Sebastian. He tucked an arm around her waist, looking at his girlfriend with a soft expression that reminded Cordelia a little of the way Xander had been looking at _her_ in their prom photos.

She snuck a look at Xander, then, to see if he was maybe making goo-goo eyes at her too. But Xander’s attention was on his wine—not in a sullen way, just in a kind of spacey way. Like he was thinking about a problem that needed solving. “You good?” said Cordelia softly.

Xander snapped to attention. “Huh?” Noticing Cordelia’s expression, he gave her a sheepish smile. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Cordy. I guess I’ve been a little out of it today, huh?”

“Try a _lot,”_ said Cordelia, remembered that they had guests, and added hastily, “But it’s fine and I love you.”

Margot giggled again. “You two are adorable,” she informed them. “Perfectly matched.”

“If only,” said Xander with a wry laugh.

“What was _that_ supposed to mean?” said Cordelia, frowning.

“Cordy,” said Xander, looking at her dead-on for the first time since that afternoon, “if I was even half as amazing as you are, I’d be the James Bond of high school graduates.”

Something about that struck Cordelia as _off._ Margot made the appropriate little _aww_ noise at Xander’s comment, and Sebastian smiled softly in Xander’s direction with the Smitten-Boyfriend kinship that smitten boyfriends with incredible girlfriends shared, but Cordelia couldn’t quite get back into the dinner-party-conversation headspace after that.

Sure, she was incredible. That wasn’t being questioned. But why the hell would Xander look at her without artifice and _honestly_ say that he wasn’t even half as amazing as her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes cordelia kisses girls no i don't make the rules


	6. poison to the family line (jenny)

For the first time since meeting Faith, Jenny hadn’t been entirely truthful with her. It hadn’t been a _lie,_ saying that it had hurt so much to hear Faith thinking of herself as less-than thanks to past experiences—but she hadn’t told the truth about _why_ it had hurt. Faith hadn’t asked. Presumably, Faith had assumed that Jenny’s reaction had stemmed from the same tender feelings as always. Presumably, Faith had been too caught up in the terror of being honest to notice how unusually _affected_ Jenny had been.

After Jenny hung up the phone, she glanced over at Rupert, who had been hovering in the corner of the room ever since she’d curled into his arms and cried almost without stopping. Without a word, he crossed the room to sit down next to her at the kitchen table, taking her hands in his. He rummaged quietly in the pocket of his bathrobe, then took out the Giles engagement ring, slipping it back onto Jenny’s finger—she always took her wedding rings off before going to sleep.

The warm family magic wrapped itself around Jenny, Rupert’s love for her made tangible. She looked up at him and said, unsteadily, “I was that bad girl, you know. I was the one no one thought would amount to anything.”

“Well, they were wrong,” said Rupert.

“They thought I was poison to the family line,” said Jenny. She dropped her head, looking down at Rupert’s hands. “It’s why they sent me after Angelus. They knew I’d never marry, or, or do magic—”

“And look at you,” said Rupert, leaning forward to rub his nose very gently against hers. “Doing both.”

Jenny didn’t smile. “When I heard Faith talking like that,” she said. She had to swallow a sob before trying again. “When I heard her saying those things. I couldn’t—I couldn’t help thinking of my family. They’d have talked about her _exactly_ like that, and she’s—” She _did_ sob, then. “She’s _incredible!”_

“Dear, I think this situation is a bit exacerbated by the fact that it is three in the morning,” said Rupert, taking Jenny’s face in his hands and brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I do understand that—that there are still parts of your family situation that might remain permanently unresolved, but the fact of the matter is…” He trailed off. “You are _my_ family, Jenny,” he said. “You, and the children.”

“And your aunts,” said Jenny. “And your dad.”

Rupert scoffed. “Hardly.”

“And your aunts _love_ Willow,” said Jenny, all but crying. “They _dote_ on her. Do you know what my family would say if they saw Willow? They’d say _you have a husband, Janna, why haven’t you started making children of your own? This is what comes of marrying so late in life—”_

Rupert’s reassuring little smile faded into something sadder. More tired. “I am sorry that you miss your family,” he said unsteadily. “I—quite hoped—that the children and I would be enough to make up for that loss, but I understand if that’s not…if that isn’t the case.”

She’d hurt his feelings. This was coming out all wrong. “No, Rupert, I just,” Jenny tried, and gave up. She moved forward a little instead, tugging herself free of his hands, and tucked her face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. She felt her breath stutter as she began to cry—quietly, so he wouldn’t hear—and he gathered her closer into his arms, stroking her hair, because of course he’d heard it anyway.

“Guys?” Willow’s voice was thick with sleep. “I thought I heard—” She stopped. Jenny couldn’t see Willow’s face, but she _heard_ the tremor in Willow’s words. “Is Jenny okay?”

“It’s all right, Willow, we’ll all talk in the morning,” said Rupert, calm and warm in that way he was getting so good at. “Do go back to sleep, won’t you? Tomorrow’s a rather important day.”

Jenny waited until the quiet padding of retreating footsteps had faded, and then she raised her head. Quietly, she reached up, touching Rupert’s cheek. “Please don’t think you’re not enough,” she said softly. “It’s not a—it isn’t a question of _enough._ It’s just that I _miss_ them a whole bunch sometimes, even though I can’t think of any people less deserving of me missing them.”

“I understand,” said Rupert. He rested his hand over hers on his cheek, leaning into her touch. “I suppose I just…” He trailed off, looking helplessly up at her. “I would give anything for you to be happy,” he said. “Uncomplicatedly, truly happy. I cannot think of anyone who deserves it more.” He grinned a bit. “Though the children deserve it just as much, of course, but I feel that that goes without saying.”

Jenny smiled too. The guy she’d married was a _far_ cry from the guy who had clung to Council beliefs about Slayers and Watchers and emotional attachments; she treasured every reminder of that.

“I find the fact that your family threw you over so callously….completely reprehensible.” Rupert’s hand tightened over hers. “You are a treasure, Jenny. Never forget that.”

“With you around to remind me?” Jenny stepped into his arms again, bumping her forehead against his. “Impossible.”

* * *

Willow watched Jenny like a hawk at breakfast.

“I’m _fine,_ ” said Jenny. Willow didn’t take her eyes off of her.

“Willow?” said Rupert. “Jenny is entirely all right. Please focus in on your pancakes before you drip syrup all over your jeans.”

Willow chewed on her lip. Then she said, “But the aunts said—”

“Faith called early in the morning,” said Jenny. It was becoming clear that any attempt at evading the truth would come off to Willow as Rupert and Jenny hiding damage inflicted by the Council, and Jenny didn’t _ever_ want Willow to have to worry about that for no reason. “She was dealing with some heavy stuff from Boston, and I got upset thinking about what she had to handle before she met us.”

Something in Willow’s face relaxed. “Oh,” she said. Uncertainly, “But Faith is okay _now,_ right?”

“Of course, sweetie,” said Jenny, reaching across the table to rest a hand over Willow’s.

“On another topic,” said Rupert smoothly, pouring some syrup onto his pancakes, “what would all of you like to do today? This is, after all, a vacation, and I should like to make sure my daughter has _some_ fun during it.”

Willow _glowed._ Jenny grinned. Since their conversation in his childhood bedroom, Rupert had been making a point to call Willow his _daughter_ at every available opportunity, and it never failed to make Willow smile. “Um,” Willow said. “What are our options?”

“Well,” said Rupert. “We can explore the grounds on horseback—”

“That,” said Jenny immediately. “That. Let’s do that.”

“It’s not as romantic as you think it is, Jenny,” said Rupert immediately.

“Oh, you’re just afraid that my horse will be faster than yours,” teased Jenny.

“To be precise,” said Rupert, “I am afraid that you will drive your horse as recklessly and speedily as you drive your car.”

“ _Please._ Anything is _speedy_ next to your _negative-two miles an hour—”_

Willow coughed pointedly. Jenny and Rupert turned to look at her, and saw that she was clearly biting back laughter. “O-kay,” she said. “Are there any other options?”

* * *

“Holy _shit,_ ” said Jenny.

Rupert whacked her shoulder. “Don’t blaspheme in my library.”

The library was _huge._ Shelves of books extending to the ceilings, one of those slidable ladders that led to a  _platform_ halfway to the ceiling, simply because the shelves were so high that climbing a ladder to reach the highest shelf might prove dangerous—Jenny moved forward towards the nearest shelf, pulling a book free. A cloud of dust enveloped her. _“AACK!”_

“No one comes in here very often,” said Sophie, muffled a bit through the sound of Jenny’s hacking coughs. “And at this point, Vin and I have progressed _well_ beyond a need for beginner spellbooks and ancient texts. Your wife would be the first to open a book from the Giles collection in…oh, how long was it since Alice passed away?”

“I’m sorry,” Rupert was saying, “no one’s opened a book in here since _Mum_ died?”

“Well, Ru, you know your father preferred the Council collection—”

“Jenny, are you okay?” asked Willow anxiously.

Eyes streaming, Jenny pulled herself up. Rupert gave her that exasperated/smug half-smile he brought out whenever she did something stupid to herself and he thought it was funny. She stuck her tongue out at him. “I am _great,_ ” she said, wiping her eyes and accidentally getting more dust all over her face. “Learning _so much right now.”_

“You look ravishing, darling,” said Rupert.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Do _not_ blaspheme in my library—”

“Oh, you two are just _precious,_ ” giggled Lavinia. “I always did say, Sophie, our Rupert could only be happy with someone just as much of a spitfire as him.”

“Yes,” said Rupert, crossing the room to help dust Jenny off. _“Spitfire_ is indeed an apt description of my wife. Disastrously destructive.” He pressed a dusty kiss to Jenny’s temple. “Do be careful with the books, dear, or you’ll choke on more dust.”

“God, can you imagine?” Jenny laughed, leaning into him. “I survive the vampires and the Hellmouth, but I get taken out by a dusty library.”

“You do need to build up your tolerance to this sort of thing,” teased Rupert. “You _did_ marry a musty, dusty librarian—”

“Good lord,” said Sophie.

 _“Newlyweds,”_ said Lavinia knowingly.

“They’re like this all the time,” Willow agreed. At Rupert’s raised eyebrow, she turned pink. “Well, you _are!_ I never said it wasn’t—uh—great-great-aunts, can you help me out here?”

“I already told you not to call us that,” said Sophie, flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder.

Still laughing, Jenny tugged Willow over into the hug. “So,” she said to Rupert. “How many of these books can we actually read without being attacked by dust?”

“Probably none,” said Rupert apologetically. “Unless there’s some way to clean up dust in half a second—”

Willow tugged on Rupert’s sleeve. “I mean,” she said hopefully. “There—there kind of is.”

Rupert blinked, looking slowly down at her. “Oh?”

“Can I, Jenny?” said Willow, turning big puppy-dog eyes in Jenny’s direction. “I’ve been _really_ good, I’ve practiced just like you taught me, I’m responsible and everything—”

Jenny grinned. “Go ahead.”

Willow beamed, stepping away from Jenny and Rupert. “Ladies and gentle…dad!” she announced to the room at large, which made Jenny start giggling and Rupert choke on some dust. “Observe!” She then did a theatrical twirl, raising her right hand in midair. Blue-and-gold sparkles descended upon anything with even a hint of dust, pulling it towards the center of the room. (Jenny, now surrounded by sparkles, sneezed.)

When the sparkles cleared, the room looked _gorgeous._ Books covered in thick layers of dust now shone with a new luster. The curtains, once cobwebby and tightly shut, were now clean and drawn, sunlight streaming into the library. Even Jenny, now sans dust, felt a little more polished. “Bravo!” she exclaimed, starting up a round of applause. “Incredible! Now there’s that Calendar-Giles magical aptitude we’re so proud of!”

Giggling, Willow took a bow. “I accept tips in more spellbooks,” she said hopefully, eyes already scanning the room.

“Go ahead,” said Rupert. “This library is, after all, just as much a part of the family as us.”

“So it’s you, me, Willow, Faith, Xander, Buffy, and the overseas library?” quipped Jenny.

“Yes,” said Rupert very seriously. “And the aunts, of course.”

“And that’s it, then?” came a voice.

Rupert stiffened. Jenny frowned. The voice didn’t sound familiar, and it wasn’t like just anyone could get past the magical wards surrounding the Giles estate. So who…

“You list off your entire family, Rupert,” said the older man, stepping into the library, “and forget to mention your dear old dad?”

* * *

Edmund Giles wasn’t exactly what Jenny had been expecting. He smiled just as softly and easily as Rupert, and they both had the same gentle eyes. He too seemed ill-suited to be a cold, dispassionate Watcher, if the way he was treating Willow was anything to go on. “A granddaughter, then,” he said warmly, sticking out his hand to a wide-eyed Willow. “And a magically gifted one at that. Clearly my son is quite lucky to have you.”

Willow had gone pink, a delighted smile on her face. “Th-thank you, Mr. Giles!”

“ _Granddad_ will do just fine, don’t you think?”

“Thank you, _Granddad,”_ Willow corrected herself, smile widening. “It’s really nice to meet you! Giles doesn’t talk about his family a lot.”

“I’d think not,” said Mr. Giles, eyes flickering briefly to Rupert. “Things between us have been…strained…for a while. I hope that that can change—”

“Not a lot can change in a week, Dad,” said Rupert stiffly. He was gripping Jenny’s hand tightly enough for it to hurt.

“And you must be the lovely Jenny,” said Mr. Giles, ignoring Rupert’s words entirely in favor of turning his attention to Jenny. Jenny felt her stomach turn over. She’d had so many bad experiences with the Watchers’ Council, she wasn’t prepared for Rupert’s _father_ to reject her too—

“Clearly a woman with a good head on her shoulders,” said Mr. Giles. “Well done, Rupert.”

Rupert pressed his lips together and stared down at the floor.

“Um,” said Jenny, trying to catch her husband’s eye. Something was _very wrong_ here. “Thanks?”

“I look forward to getting to know you more over the next few days,” said Mr. Giles. “Perhaps I might take the three of you out for lunch tomorrow? Or dinner, if you’ve already made plans?”

“The entire week is booked,” said Rupert without looking up from the floor.

Mr. Giles let out a small, disappointed sigh. “Rupert, _really,”_ he said. “It’s only a dinner invitation. I know we haven’t been on the best of terms, but I at least deserve the chance to make that right—”

“Dad,” said Rupert, raising his head, “we haven’t spoken face-to-face in nearly ten years. I don’t seen how you can even _begin_ to make up for that.”

“You _did_ spend three of those years overseas,” pointed out Mr. Giles with a wry laugh. “Listen, Jenny—if you’d talk him into dinner, that would mean the world to me. You can make my son do just about anything, from what the Council’s been telling me.”

Something about the way he phrased that made Jenny feel _deeply_ on edge. “Well, not _anything,_ ” she said, trying to laugh herself. “Rupert and I have an equal partnership.”

Mr. Giles laughed again, still gentle and unassuming. “You really do seem a lovely woman,” he said. “I hope _you_ at least will join me for dinner. I should like to know more of the woman who captured my son’s heart. The Council’s account of you is, I am sure, quite biased and cruel.”

“Oh, you _bet_ it is!” said Willow fiercely. “The Council doesn’t know _anything_ about Jenny!”

“I’m sure they don’t,” agreed Mr. Giles. “I’d love to discuss that fact with my new daughter-in-law a bit more.”

“Edmund,” said Sophie, a strangely warning note to her voice.

Mr. Giles glanced at Sophie and Lavinia. “I should like to remind you both,” he said, still quite politely, “that my attempts to mend fences with my son are _entirely_ none of your business. We did discuss this, didn’t we?”

Sophie pressed her lips together. Lavinia let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Are you done, then?” said Rupert.

Mr. Giles turned back to Rupert. “I’m not sure,” he said. “What are your dinner plans tomorrow?”

A long moment passed, during which Jenny felt Rupert’s hand clench tighter still around her own. Finally, an almost childishly hopeful note to his voice, he said, “You really do want to mend fences, Dad?”

 _No,_ thought Jenny. Every single alarm bell went off at the way her husband was saying that.  _No no no no no._

“Of course,” said Mr. Giles softly. “You’re my son. You mean the world to me, no matter what.”

Rupert swallowed, hard. “All right,” he said. “All right. Dinner, then. Tomorrow. Here. Jenny and I can cook something.”

“Jenny can  _what?”_ said Jenny indignantly.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mr. Giles rested a hand on his son’s shoulder, then let it drop. “I have some Council-related business to attend to today, so I really must go now,” he said. “Thank you very much for hearing me out. I deeply appreciate it, and I hope that this can be a new beginning for both of us.”

“Yes,” said Rupert. His eyes were fixed all but helplessly on his father. “Yes. Myself as well.”

* * *

As soon as Mr. Giles had left the premises, and as soon as Willow was sufficiently distracted by the spellbooks in the library, Jenny yanked Rupert upstairs and into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door behind them. “Okay,” she said. “Clearly I’m not the only one with family baggage. Rupert, we _need_ to talk about this.”

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” said Rupert stiffly. The way he was holding himself—god, it reminded her of when she’d _first_ met him. It had been _years_ since she’d seen him this closed-off.

“What’s going on between you and your dad?”

Rupert didn’t answer.

Jenny let out a frustrated breath. “We’re _married,_ ” she said. “I promised you in my vows that I’d always be there to hold you. How can I do that if you’re not telling me what’s wrong?”

After a long, painful silence, Rupert sat down on the bed, still tightly gripping Jenny’s hand. She sat down next to him. In a quiet, choked voice, he said, “Jenny, I so badly want him to understand how much I have always valued his good opinion, and how little he has ever valued _me_. If there is a chance that he has changed—”

Jenny swallowed. “Oh,” she said. This didn’t feel like something easily untangled. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just…” Rupert swallowed. “Just give him a chance,” he said. “At dinner tomorrow. Give him a chance to make things up to all of us. I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but I think there’s a possibility that it _could_ be something good. He likes Willow, he _clearly_ thinks highly of you…” He trailed off, letting his head fall to rest against Jenny’s shoulder.

Jenny reached up with her free hand, gently stroking his hair. “And if it’s _not_ good, you’re still  _my_ family, okay?” she said very softly. “It goes both ways. Don’t forget that.”

Rupert let out a sobbing breath and kissed her shoulder.


	7. healing (buffy)

For a stupidly long time, Buffy’s life had felt so _automated:_ school, training with Giles, home, midnight patrol, home before Mom woke up, school again. It had almost felt like if she’d stepped outside and left it, her life would have kept going without her, chugging along like some well-oiled machine. But she and Faith had very pointedly decided _not_ to draw up a plan for the road trip, choosing instead to drive aimlessly and stop at places that interested them, and it was the first time in a very long while that Buffy was waking up not knowing what the day would bring.

Faith was the best company for days like that. She was old hat at unpredictable traveling, which meant that she’d come up with lots of different ways to make even long car rides fun. “How many cows have we seen?” she inquired from the driver’s seat.

“Uh,” said Buffy, and checked her notepad. “Seven.”

“If we see ten before the next gas station—” Faith tapped her finger against her chin, considering, then said, “You gotta make out with me at the hotel.”

“That’s gonna happen anyway,” giggled Buffy.

“I know,” said Faith. “Low-stakes bet.”

“Aren’t you a high-stakes girl?”

“Stakes don’t need to be high when you’re in love,” said Faith, giving Buffy a surprisingly soft-eyed glance through her lashes. “Did I tell you how pretty the sun looks in your hair today?”

“You say that every day,” said Buffy happily, leaning back in the seat. “Oh—eight! If we _don’t_ see ten, though, we have to stop at the gas station for ice cream.”

“That’s gonna happen anyway,” said Faith, grinning at the open road.

“Low-stakes bet,” Buffy volleyed back, placing her hand over Faith’s on the steering wheel.

* * *

_Hey, Calendar-Gileses! (This includes Willow, obviously.)_

_I know Giles said you guys would probably be really busy in England and you and Jenny will write longer, better letters after you’ve dropped Willow off, but I don’t mind it if all I get in reply to this letter is a two-sentence postcard. I’ve kinda started missing everyone. You three, Xander, Oz…heck, even Cordelia. Can you believe Cordelia’s on this list? I’m in shock. It’s a total bummer that she and Xander are gonna be living in Paris for at least a year. Anyway, it’s late at night, Faith and I are driving to Who Knows Where, and she thinks I should go to sleep but I kinda wanted to write you. Even though I know it’s gonna be a while before you all read this, it makes me feel really happy to know that you will at some point._

_I’m sending Giles and Jenny some pictures for the family album: I took a whole bunch of Faith. Most of them are from this weird roadside antique store we went to yesterday. She tried on this really old feather boa and some sunglasses and put on a funny accent like some movie star from the twenties, and the lady behind the counter kept on trying to shoot her disapproving looks, but she’d just pretend she couldn’t see all the death glares._

_Also a few of them are from the night we parked the car by the side of the road and stargazed. I took a lot of blurry, dark shots of Faith and they mostly ended up coming out like conspiracy-theory Loch Ness Monster pictures, but her pictures of me turned out pretty okay. She’s making me send them to you guys because she says that you don’t have enough pictures of me and I’m part of the family too. I hope that’s true._

_ALSO this paragraph is for Giles: can we get a puppy or a kitten or something? Faith wants to know. I know my mom won’t let me keep a kitten in the house so it’s gotta stay with you and Jenny. I’m bringing this up because we keep on driving through towns with pet shops and animal shelters and the kittens and the puppies are SO CUTE. Faith doesn’t wanna just spring a baby animal on you and Jenny when you get back from your honeymoon, though, ‘cause she says that’s a “dick move,” but she’s making me ask you specifically because she knows Jenny will just say yes without asking you. She and Jenny have apparently had lots of conversations about dogs._

_ANYWAY please please please tell me about England when you get this! How’s the family? Is Willow settling in okay? I JUST MISS YOU GUYS A LOT. EVEN THOUGH I’M HAVING FUN I STILL MISS YOU GUYS A LOT._

_xoxoxoxoxoxox LOTS OF LOVE,_

_Buffy_

* * *

The tenth cow was spotted just as they were pulling into the gas station. Buffy let out a theatrically disappointed _huff,_ and Faith giggled, kissing her on the cheek before hopping out of the car. Buffy watched her go for a second or two, feeling all soft and fluttery: she’d heard Faith laugh, but she’d never heard Faith laugh like _that._ Warm, and unguarded, and uncomplicatedly happy.

And hard as it was to deal with how _much_ she was suddenly noticing how pretty her girlfriend was, it became a hell of a lot easier when she could see what respecting Faith’s boundaries had brought out. Faith was comfortable with Buffy in ways she hadn’t been before, and the laugh was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Hi,” said Buffy, falling into step with Faith as they entered the gas station. “What kind of ice cream are you thinking?”

Faith slipped her hand, casually, into Buffy’s, looking away as if she thought that looking _towards_ Buffy would make her seem too forward. “Popsicle,” she said. “One of the really fucked-up flavors that turn your mouth blue.”

 _“Ick,”_ said Buffy. “I’m _totally_ not kissing you if you do that.”

“I won the bet,” pointed out Faith.

“…Goddamn it.”

Faith laughed again. It was such a _joyful_ sound. “What are you getting?”

“Strawberry,” said Buffy decisively. “And if they don’t have that, vanilla.”

“They have Neapolitan, I think,” said Faith, squeezing Buffy’s hand. “Best of both worlds, right?”

It was so weird, talking about dumb teenage stuff like ice cream flavors and kissing and _not_ the fate of the world. Weird, and good, and _wonderful._ Buffy didn’t have to think about whether or not Sunnydale was gonna explode in her absence, because it wasn’t her or Faith’s responsibility for the summer. The two girls in all the world, getting ice cream like two girls who just happened to live in the world.

“I love this,” said Buffy, tilting her head up to look at the fluorescent lights of the grocery store.

She felt a fleeting kiss pressed to her temple, and Faith said, “Me too, b.”

* * *

_Buffy,_

_Though I meant it when I said I didn’t have much time to write you the lengthy replies you deserved, I have found that I am able to_ make _time when someone as important as my first Slayer decides to write me. Your letter was brimming over with joy and love, enough so that it spilled over into our own day. We were all delighted to hear from you._

_As for the request regarding a baby animal, I hope you know that you and Faith have both caused me some serious havoc. Jenny demands a dog, Willow wants her own kitten, and both of them refuse to let me send out a letter saying anything other than “yes, Buffy, you and Faith may acquire as many animals as you wish and bring them home.” I am not at all opposed to the concept of us all going to purchase a pet together at the end of the summer, but I have some concerns about the two of you buying an animal and taking it with you on your road trip. It may be difficult for a cat or dog to acclimate to its new owners and location if said location is constantly changing. So: I leave the decision up to the both of you, but please keep the animal’s health and well-being in mind._

_Thank you very much for the pictures. Faith was entirely right: we could always use more of you in the album. Your arrival in Sunnydale was, after all, the catalyst that brought us all together: the family album would not be complete without you in it._

_England has been…eventful, but in a way that I hope will be ultimately positive. Spending time with one’s family is generally a good thing, I think._

_I hope that you and Faith are having a much-deserved, much-enjoyed vacation._

_Much love,_

_Mr. Calendar-Giles_

* * *

Buffy snorted.

“What?” said Faith.

Doing her best to avoid the cesspool of gas-station snacks in the middle of the bed, Buffy tossed the letter to Faith. _“Mr. Calendar-Giles,”_ she quoted, an affectionate laugh in her voice. “I bet he signs _everything_ like that now.”

“Well, _I’m_ still calling him Mr. Calendar,” said Faith solemnly. “We all know who’s in charge there.”

“He says he doesn’t think we should get a puppy ‘till we’re off the road,” Buffy added, pushing some of the snacks to the side so that she could lean against Faith’s shoulder. “He spent a whole paragraph explaining why. But he said when we get home we can get one!”

“ _Sick,”_ said Faith appreciatively. “I want a big dog that can bite all the vampires for us.”

“What about a snuggly golden retriever?”

“My idea, my puppy,” said Faith, “and I want one that can _bite things.”_

“You _say that,”_ said Buffy, “but out of the two of us, _who’s_ the one who always goes to look at the scrappy little runt in the back of the animal shelter?”

Faith blushed. “Shut up!”

“Softie,” said Buffy.

“Take it back!”

“You’ve got an ooey-gooey marshmallow center—”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ deck you if you keep going!” But Faith was already dissolving into laughter too, throwing her arms around Buffy’s waist and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and _that_ was new too. Faith’s threats used to have _weight_ behind them, but now she was _joking,_ because hitting people and hiding her soft spots weren’t things she needed to do anymore.

“You like the puppies that need saving,” Buffy continued, and she couldn’t keep the warmth out of her voice. Never could, around Faith. “You like being able to help the ones who need helping, because you’re the kind of person that _likes_ helping.”

“Shut up,” said Faith, smiling awkwardly and turning a dull shade of red.

“You’re a good person, Faith,” said Buffy. “The best person.”

Faith’s smile flickered a little, at that. She settled herself a little more closely into Buffy’s arms, then said, “I mean, I don’t know about _that—_ ”

“Take the compliment,” Buffy encouraged her.

Faith didn’t meet Buffy’s eyes. “It’s hard,” she said, after a moment. “I’ve—I spent my entire fuckin’ life hearing that I was nothing but trash. I don’t know how long it’ll take before I start even believing that I’m _not._ ”

“Okay, well, first of all, I’m gonna personally track down and fight every single person who made you feel that way,” said Buffy conversationally. “Maybe break their kneecaps.”

Faith snickered. “It’s so funny when you talk smack,” she said.

“Funny how?”

“You’re wearing pajamas with little jumping sheep on them,” said Faith. “ _And_ you’re cuddling me.”

“Well, I’m multifaceted,” Buffy informed her. “And _nice_ try, trying to distract me, but it is _not_ gonna work.”

“I think it almost did—”

“You know that Jenny’s fingers aren’t ever going to be the same again?” said Buffy. “And even though Giles came back, I don’t think Willow trusts him all the way not to leave like he did last summer. _And_ Xander still hasn’t talked to anyone about his dad, and I—” She swallowed. “Sometimes,” she said, “I have nightmares about going into that old boardinghouse, only Giles really is dead.”

“Buffy—”

“My _point,_ ” said Buffy, “is that if I’ve learned _anything_ this year, it’s that these things take _time._ You can’t just expect things to snap magically into an okay place even when the stuff around you is better than it’s ever been.”

“I don’t know how much better that makes me feel,” said Faith ruefully. “I mean, shit, am I supposed to spend the rest of my life feeling like I don’t deserve to be with someone as kickass as you?”

“Well,” said Buffy, “I can just keep telling you that the whole concept of _deserving me_ is stupid and dumb. People are just people.”

“And smart,” said Faith, kissing her jaw. “Did I mention smart?”

“Hmm,” said Buffy, preening, and giggled when Faith’s smile finally returned. “Just—cut yourself some slack, Faith, okay? Maybe you can’t see the changes you’ve made, but I sure can.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too,” mumbled Faith, sounding half-afraid to admit it, and tucked her face back into Buffy’s shoulder.

* * *

_Dearest and darlingest Mrs. Calendar-Giles,_

_Did you know your husband is signing all his letters to me “Mr. Calendar-Giles?” Well, okay, he only sent me one, but I still think it’s really funny. If he’s calling himself “Mr. Calendar-Giles,” I hope he knows that I’m totally not calling him Calendar-Giles. We already had that discussion at the wedding and the thought of calling Giles 'Calendar-Giles' breaks my brain a little._

_Mostly I’m writing this letter because I feel like you’re the one other person who loves Faith as much as I do, except in like a totally different way. And then I started thinking about it and realized that you’re also the one other person who loves Giles as much as I do, except in DEFINITELY a totally different way, because no offense but there is NO way I would EVER EVER EVER want to marry Giles. YUCK. Also the “yuck” comes from the fact that he’s basically my dad, not from the fact that your husband is gross. He’s not. He’s great. I’m getting very off topic because it’s like one in the morning and I’m kinda tired._

_Anyway._

_I guess I just kind of started thinking about the fact that we love two of the same people a whole bunch, and they’re two people who have been through a lot of tough stuff. And Giles’s stuff is less current, so I wanted to ask you, because I know you’ll know why I’m asking: does it get better, after a while? Someone I love very much needs to know._

_Signing off,_

_Ms. Summers (ahaha see I did it too)_

* * *

Thank goodness for magic: Jenny’s response came only thirty minutes later, appearing on Buffy’s nightstand with a soft _pop._ Turning on the nearby lamp, Buffy picked it up, unfolded it, and felt something warm unfurl in her chest.

* * *

_Hey, Ms. Summers._

_Yeah, I know. The guy’s a dork._

_And to answer your question (concisely, because I get the sense you need an answer soon): I don’t think it ever gets_ better, _at least not in the sense you’re thinking of. I think pain and trauma changes you a little bit, and you can’t really return to the person you were, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t get easier after a while. You learn to live with the stuff that’s happened to you, and come to terms with it, and find ways to be happy around it. It becomes an easier part of your life to accept._

_So. Give Faith time and space (because I assume we’re talking about Faith here), and be there for her when you can, and let her learn how to be there for you when you need it. Things won’t magically knit themselves together into a perfect happy ending, but sometimes that’s kinda fun: it means you two have a hand in shaping it together._

_My most esteemed regards,_

_Mrs. Calendar-Giles_

* * *

Buffy had always kind of thought of _healing_ as a pretty linear process, especially when she was thinking about Faith. But even though Jenny’s explanation meant a lot more hard work on everybody’s part, it still rang true in a way that warmed Buffy to her core.

So healing wasn’t going to be a magic Band-Aid fix. That was cool. Buffy could actually work a little better with that. Being a Vampire Slayer meant that the job was never really going to be done, right? That there was no real way to just _fix_ the fact that this was her life now. But she had a family, and someone to snuggle with at night, and a whole life still stretching out ahead of her, as wide and bright as the open road. And if Buffy had figured out how to build a life around her Slayer-ness, then she _knew_ she could help Faith learn to build a life around the stuff weighing her down—and maybe ease the burden a little with lots of love and cuddles.

* * *

_Jenny,_

_Thanks. For a lot of things, I think. I don’t know how to put them all into a letter, but._

_Thank you._

_Love,_

_Buffy_


	8. heaps of other french guys (xander)

Margot Daniels was the prettiest girl Xander had ever met. Long golden hair like some kind of Disney princess, big, earnest brown eyes, and a warm, genuine smile: Margot was pretty inside and out, and rich to boot. _And_ she was the kind of rich person who wanted to share their good fortune with other people—the kind of rich person that Xander had honestly thought didn’t actually exist. Everything about Margot was picture-perfect, and it was starting to turn Xander’s stomach.

Not for the reason he’d been expecting, though. When he’d first met Margot, he’d felt a guilty twinge of attraction, but it wasn’t very strong and so he’d been able to ignore it. The thing that was beginning to bother Xander was the fact that Cordelia’s eyes lingered on Margot’s in the same way they’d once lingered on _him—_ furtive, and almost ashamed, with a little twist of attraction. He knew Cordy well enough to know when she had feelings for someone, and judging by the way Margot had called his girlfriend an _old friend,_ it was pretty clear that the feelings had once been reciprocated.

It was a moot point, Xander told himself. A completely moot point, because Margot was dating Sebastian, and Cordy was dating _him,_ and neither girl seemed particularly interested in changing that fact. Besides which, Margot was a _legitimately nice person—_ not at all the type of person who would dump her devoted boyfriend to steal Xander’s devoted girlfriend—and Cordelia was much the same. For all of Cordy’s self-proclaimed cattiness, Xander knew she had strong morals at her core.

But…

Xander kept thinking about how there were probably a thousand other Margots out there—girls and boys alike who were rich, and pretty, and well-dressed, and _kind._ He kept thinking about how they were going to meet Margot’s friends, who were probably just as nice and incredible as Margot herself, and about how some of them were probably going to be single. And they were in _Paris,_ after all—who _wouldn’t_ want to date an international hottie? Hadn’t Cordelia always been talking, years ago, about her many French fantasies regarding summer love? Wasn’t that the reason he’d taken her to Paris in the first place?

God, he was stupid. He was so fucking stupid. Any girl with half a brain would pick someone like Margot over someone like Xander.

“Blue or yellow?” inquired Cordelia, holding up two summery sundresses in front of the mirror.

Hastily, Xander shook himself out of his haze. After a moment of consideration, he said, “Uh, blue?”

“Hm. Thanks.” Cordelia turned, standing on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to Xander’s cheek. “You should get ready too, you know. Margot’s super sweet and _she_ won’t say anything, but _I_ am not having my live-in boyfriend show up to a social engagement wearing Star Wars pajamas.”

“Okay, these aren’t Star _Wars_ pajamas—” At Cordelia’s look, Xander grinned sheepishly. “Fair enough. Should I have you pick out my outfit?”

Cordelia blinked. “Why would I?”

“Don’t you usually have, like, five thousand opinions on what I should and shouldn’t wear?”

Cordelia shrugged, smiling softly. “Well,” she said. “Call me a total sap and a _total_ sucker, but I kind of like the way you dress. Maybe it’s not fashionable, or cute, or fun to look at, but it’s _you,_ you know? What’s not to like?”

Xander wasn’t sure what to do with that. “You literally just listed off three reasons you don’t like it,” he said.

 _“Xander,”_ huffed Cordelia, stepping forward to shove the sundresses into his arms, “I told you those reasons so you can understand how much I _care_ about you! You’ve been acting _super_ spacey and weird ever since we met up with Margot, and I don’t know _why,_ but I _do_ know you have absolutely no reason to be! We’re in _Paris,_ okay? We’re supposed to be doing dumb couple stuff together, not—not having weird pseudo-fights over nothing!”

She kind of had a point, Xander thought. The guilt settled more solidly in his chest. Whatever was going on with him—whatever uncomfortable truths he was realizing about their relationship—it shouldn’t have to be Cordelia’s problem. This was her fun vacation, not his pity party. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m being kind of weird but I’m working on it.”

“You _better,_ ” said Cordelia. “There are _heaps_ of other French guys for me to date if you don’t.”

He could see the teasing sparkle in her eyes, and he _knew_ she wasn’t being serious, but—shit, she really was right. If he didn’t shape up and start acting more normal, Cordelia _was_ going to start looking for someone less of a mess. Xander swallowed, hard, and did his best to smile. “I love you,” he said.

Cordelia’s face softened, her brow still slightly furrowed. _“Talk_ to me if something’s got you all weird,” she said, and stood on tiptoe again, pulling him into a clumsy hug. “That’s what I’m here for. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Xander, glad that he didn’t have to meet her eyes.

* * *

Margot sent an _actual limo_ to their apartment. Not only that, but Cordelia acted like this was _normal._ “Oh, yeah, this is just good manners,” she informed Xander. “If your guest lives far out of town and you’ve got the means to transport them, you do it, and you do it in style. Daddy used to do things like that all the time for business associates until—” She pulled a face. “Well, you know.”

“So what,” said Xander, suddenly feeling _very_ underdressed in his Hawaiian shirt and jeans, “we just get in the limo and it takes us…”

“To Margot’s mansion, obviously!”

“Ah, yes,” said Xander. “Margot’s mansion. Now why did you let me dress myself?”

Cordelia gave him a withering look. “Because it doesn’t _matter_ what you wear, Xander,” she said. “Margot doesn’t _care_ about that kind of thing. If she did, we sure wouldn’t be going to her mansion right now.”

“Really?” said Xander skeptically.

 _“Really,”_ said Cordelia, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “Why would you think I’d wanna hang out with someone who cares about stupid things like fashion and clothes more than they care about _people?”_

“Because for a period of time, _you_ cared about that stuff,” said Xander. “A _lot._ And you made fun of me for it. Also a lot.”

A deeply hurt look crossed Cordelia’s face. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Oh. Well. I.”

Xander _instantly_ regretted saying anything at all. “No, it’s okay—”

“No,” said Cordelia, still in that unusually tiny voice. “It, it really wasn’t. And I think some part of me knew it even at the time. I guess I never really apologized for that stuff, huh?”

God, now Xander felt _terrible._ “You don’t _need_ to—”

“Xander, I think I do.” With a wobbly smile, Cordelia reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “If it left this much of an impact on you, it was a bad call on my part. I’m really sorry.”

Xander shrugged her hand off. “You _don’t_ need to apologize,” he said again. It came out sharper and harder than he’d meant it to, and when he saw Cordelia blink back tears, he only felt worse. “It’s fine. Okay?”

Cordelia drew her arms in, hugging her stomach, and watched him get into the limo without a word. She followed him in, keeping a significant amount of distance between them when she sat down in the limo, and made a point of looking out the window instead of looking at him.

“Cordy,” said Xander.

“You’re being a _dick_ lately,” said Cordelia to the window as the car started. “I don’t know what’s up with it, but I _don’t_ like it. At _all.”_

“Cordy—”

“If you’re not gonna tell me about whatever’s bothering you, that’s fine,” said Cordelia. “But stop pretending that you’re totally fine, because I can _tell_ that’s not true.”

“I _am_ fine,” said Xander.

“Ugh!” Cordelia let her head fall against the window. “Seriously! At this point I miss when we were just insulting each other, because at least _then_ you were being honest with me!”

“Oh, so you _miss_ the insults!” said Xander. “That’s great! Good to know that _that_ was the appeal!”

“What is _wrong_ with you right now?”

“ _NOTHING!”_

Tightly crossing her arms, Cordelia turned herself bodily away from Xander, all but pressing herself against the side of the car. Xander did the same thing, watching the streets and the people and all the stuff about Paris that had felt so _cool_ when they’d first gotten there.

What was going wrong here? What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just tell Cordelia that he felt like she was gonna ditch him for some rich French person the first chance she got—she’d feel _awful,_ because she’d think he thought little of her. And it wasn’t that he thought little of _her,_ it was just that he thought she should be dating someone _better,_ and he knew that _that_ would make her mad too. There was no way he could be honest with her without really upsetting her, and this was supposed to be her _vacation._

He felt awful, and he didn’t know what to do about it. But he couldn’t afford to sulk for very long: they would, after all, be guests in a very nice mansion. Turning back towards Cordelia, he said quietly, “Look, can we…table this till after we see Margot?”

Cordelia’s back was still to him. Without turning around, she said, “You’re gonna just use it as another excuse _not_ to talk to me, Xander. If you’re not planning on telling me what it is that’s bothering you _so_ much, then _I’m_ going to tell Margot that we’re having a fight.”

Xander’s stomach lurched. “Cordelia—”

“No!” Cordelia turned to him, eyes fierce and wet. “Xander, it shouldn’t _take_ me threatening stuff like that to get you to even _consider_ talking to me! And if you tell me _one more time_ that everything’s _just fine,_ then—”

“Then what?” snapped Xander. “You’ll break up with me?”

The anger in Cordelia’s eyes faded. The tears didn’t. “Is that what this is?” she said.

 _Oh god._ He hadn’t _meant_ for the conversation to go in this direction, he hadn’t _wanted_ for things to turn out like this even though he’d _known_ it was coming, this was all just happening too _fast_ and he couldn’t—

“Xander?” said Cordelia. Her voice broke. “Please. Please just talk to me. Whatever it is that’s going on—whatever it is I did—we can fix this, okay? We’ve been through so much worse. We’re—I _love_ you, Xander, that doesn’t just go away—”

“You shouldn’t,” said Xander.

Cordelia blinked, startled out of her misery. “I’m sorry?”

“You shouldn’t,” said Xander, staring down at his shaking hands. His stomach turned. He wanted to pretend it was because he was carsick. “You shouldn’t love me so much. You and I both know that you could do better.”

There was a _very_ long silence. Then Cordelia shouted, “XANDER HARRIS, ARE YOU _FUCKING_ SERIOUS?”

Xander froze. Slowly, he turned to look at her. This wasn’t at all the reaction he’d been expecting. “Am I…what?”

Clenching her fists, Cordelia directed a _furious_ glare at him. “I have been worried _sick,_ ” she snapped, “that you’re dealing with something _serious,_ that you’ve been having _second thoughts_ about taking me to Paris, that you don’t want anything to do with me now that I’m not a fashionable rich girl, and you’re telling me that you just _think I could do better than you?_ That is _NOT_ your decision to make! If I say you’re _perfect_ for me, then you’re perfect for me—”

“Well, what happens when you decide I’m not?” Xander burst out, infuriated by Cordelia’s fucking _certainty._ “What happens when you finally realize that you’re in _Paris,_ the city of your dreams, and everyone here is either richer than me or prettier than me or both? What happens when you realize that you _deserve_ better than some dumb loser who only made it into college because Jenny and Giles were there to _push_ him into applying, and then didn’t go anyway?”

Cordelia stared at him with flashing eyes, and then something in her face shattered. She pressed her fingers to her mouth with a small, broken sob. _“Xander,”_ she said.

“Cordy,” said Xander jerkily. “See, this is why I didn’t want to _tell_ you—”

There was a cough from the chauffeur up front, and Xander realized that the car had stopped moving. Before he could reach for Cordelia, she was already opening the car door, checking the state of her makeup in a small compact mirror as she drew in a shuddering breath. “Well, come on, then,” she said, and turned an impeccably gorgeous smile on Xander. Her eyes were very purposefully blank. “Margot’s waiting, isn’t she?”

* * *

“Cordelia and Xander!” Margot first hugged Cordelia, then Xander, beaming delightedly at both of them. “Right on time! Now, I know I said you two would be _looking through my closet,_ but…”

“Oh, _Margot,_ ” huffed Cordelia, a playful laugh in her voice. Behind her, Xander was experiencing some pretty serious emotional whiplash: Cordy was showing absolutely _no_ sign that she had been arguing with him on the car ride over. He was too confused about _that_ to even really think about the argument itself. “You’d _better_ not have gotten us some new stuff. I told you that that wouldn’t be necessary—”

“And I told _you_ that I have much too much money not to spend it on people who deserve a bit of extravagance,” said Margot warmly. “Please. Follow me.”

Cordelia tucked her arm into Margot’s as they walked. She glanced back towards Xander, and the look in her eyes was one so profoundly heartbroken that Xander felt sick to his stomach. _This,_ he thought. This was why he hadn’t wanted to tell her. He knew Cordelia—he knew she’d be hurt by his own insecurities. He hadn’t wanted to make them her problem. He shoved his hands into his pockets and did his best to pretend he was admiring Margot’s ostentatious mansion, and the spiral staircase, and the many expensive-looking paintings on the walls, right up until they entered a giant room _full_ of clothes.

Cordelia let out a soft, longing breath. “You’re, like, basically a Disney princess, Margot,” she sighed, moving forward as if spellbound. “Can I—”

“Try anything!” said Margot warmly. “Take anything, if you like it. I have too much clothing to notice.”

“Are you SERIOUS?” shrieked Cordelia, and flung her arms around Margot. “Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you!”

Xander’s stomach turned again and he stared down at his shoes.

“Xander?” said Margot. Then, to Cordelia, “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, uh—” Cordelia hesitated. “We had a rough night’s sleep last night. Lots of traffic downtown for some reason. Xander sleeps by the window so he kinda got the worst of the noise.”

Xander had to be kind of impressed by how well she’d come up with that on the fly. “Yeah,” he said lamely. “By the window.”

Margot clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Poor Xander,” she said. “Well, perhaps it will awaken you to see your Cordelia in a perfect princess dress?”

“What color?” said Cordelia eagerly.

“ _Well,_ ” said Margot, “I have _quite_ a few dresses, and alterations can be made if they don’t fit, so—”

“Aaah, let me see!” giggled Cordelia, hurrying past Margot and through an open door Xander hadn’t noticed.

“Wait here, Xander, I want you to be surprised!” added Margot delightedly, following Cordelia inside and shutting the door behind her.

And then Xander was left alone, in the middle of what felt like some kind of giant Barbie playset, with the knowledge that a Disney princess was treating his girlfriend like the queen she deserved. He didn’t have money, or style, or any of that stuff that Cordelia had always valued back in high school. He’d spent most of his money on a trip to Paris and on buying the apartment for them to stay in, and he was still doing his best to lock down a local part-time job that only required a high school degree. Not exactly Prince Charming.

God, what was it going to feel like when Cordelia came out in that luminous princess dress? What was it going to feel like, knowing that the best she could get was from someone else’s charity instead of from the guy who was supposed to support her and love her and give her the world? All Xander had given Cordelia today was that miserable expression on her face.

And she was going to come out in that dress, looking so unbearably _fucking_ beautiful—and he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t do it. He wasn’t even close to strong enough to see how incredible Cordelia was when she was given a _real_ chance to shine. A lump in his throat, Xander turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

It started out as a walk, and then, through the still-open door, he heard the rustle of skirts and Cordelia’s soft voice. And then he imagined facing her in that dress, eyes wide with hurt, and suddenly he was _running—_ away from Cordy, away from Margot, away from his own fucking inability to be the kind of guy she deserved. Tumbling down the spiral staircase, shoving his way past the butler at the door, wrenching the door of the limo open.

“Get me to the airport,” he gasped out without really thinking about it. “And step on it.”


End file.
